


Arthur's Life is Not a Hallmark Movie

by teacuphuman



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Adult Communication, Anti-Hallmark, Arthur's poor balls, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Smut, Come Marking, Drunk Santa, Embarrassing Childhood Stories, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family Drama, First Crush, Frottage, Getting drunk on an airplane, Grinding, Holiday Wedding, Left at the Altar, Light Angst, M/M, Meet the Family, Misunderstandings, Oral Sex, Public Display of Affection, Recreational Drug Use, Run in with the ex, Sibling teasing, Snowball Fight, Snowballing, Use of children for blatant emotional manipulation, but in a fun way, candy-themed inuendo, cheesy montage, competitive baking, lying to your family, more Christmas inuendo, shameless apron wearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:33:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 38,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21628420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacuphuman/pseuds/teacuphuman
Summary: Hard working architect Arthur returns home to his family's Christmas tree farm to celebrate the wedding of his cousin and the man who left him at the altar. A chance encounter with a colourful stranger has him faking his way through the holidays with unexpected results!
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Comments: 349
Kudos: 368





	1. Accidentally In Love

**Author's Note:**

> Merry HoHo! Instead of my usual Hallmark Holiday Remix Fic, I decided to try my hand at something original in the genre as a gift to the wonderful Inception fandom! There will be 25 chapters (god willing) and will update daily. I hope you all like it!
> 
> Tags will update as we go and all chapters are named after actual Hallmark holiday movies (except the first one).

_ “...speak now or forever hold your peace.” _

Arthur chuckled nervously, his hand sweaty around his groom’s. Jack’s smile was tight, his eyes flitting towards the back of the church. Arthur tightened his grip and Jack winced, giving him a placating smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Well then,” the pastor continued brightly, but before he could go any further the large wooden doors of the quaint country church flew open, revealing Arthur’s cousin, Holly. 

“Stop the ceremony!” Holly shouted and Arthur watched in horror as relief shone on Jack’s face, his smile transforming as Holly made her way up the aisle and past their confused guests, the red in her cheeks a harsh contrast to the yellow ranunculus and blue delphiniums that decorated each pew. Arthur looked to Jack and felt his heart break as happy tears welled from Jack’s eyes and slipped down his cheeks. He’d always been sentimental like that. A romantic. But that was supposed to be for Arthur, not Holly.

Holly marched right up to the altar, ignoring the mumbling of the crowd, deaf and blind to anything but Jack. “Jack, I can’t let you make this terrible mistake.” 

“Hey!” Arthur protested, dropping Jack’s hand.

“I love you and I can’t spend another minute without you,” she professed, stepping between them and turning her back on Arthur.

“Hols, what the hell?” Arthur demanded.

“Ever since I first met you six days ago, I knew there was something special about you. You were charming and funny, and then we took that carriage ride and it was so magical that now I can’t imagine living my life without you in it.”

Arthur looked to the Pastor, “Is this really happening or am I having a stroke?”

“Shhh!” the Pastor hissed, his eyes transfixed on the drama unfolding in front of them.

“Holly, putting together that last-minute fundraiser for kids with no access to private swim lessons with you was the best night of my life,” Jack told her, his voice wobbling along with his bottom lip.

“What fundraiser?” Arthur asked, raising his arms one at a time. Maybe he  _ was _ having a stroke and this was all a hallucination. That seemed more likely than the farce that was unfolding in front of him  _ at his own damn wedding _ .

“And when we got caught in the rain and your lips touched mine—”

“Excuse me?” Arthur choked out.

“It was like I was experiencing joy for the first time,” Jack continued, holding Holly’s hands to his chest. “And then that strange old man with the beard served us kombucha and thought we were in love. Oh, Holly, it was like I was opening my eyes for the first time. I never knew love until I knew you.”

“Yes, you did!” Arthur protested, flinching when several of their guests shushed him.

“Oh, Jack!” Holly cried, throwing her arms around him. 

Arthur stared in disbelief. There was no way this was his real life. It couldn’t be. But before he could question anyone else about the impossibility of it all, Holly was pulling back, her hands cupping Jack’s face.

“Jack Noah Wood, will you stand with me, side by side, on the soil of my late Grandfather’s Christmas tree farm, a place you’ve never seen, and far away from the big city you grew up in, and be my husband?” she asked, making Arthur’s great aunt Bessie gasp.

“Of course I will!” Jack exclaimed, holding Holly close and kissing her. 

The church erupted in applause, but Arthur could do nothing but stand there, stunned. How had this happened? When had Jack and Holly created this apparently unbreakable bond? Who does something like this on their cousin’s wedding day? And why the hell was his own mother misty-eyed and wishing the traitors all the best?

Arthur slumped to the ground, watching his guests follow the wrong happy couple out of the church. The pastor tripped over him in his hurry to join the revelry, pausing only to pat Arthur on the shoulder.

“You can’t stand in the way of true love, young man,” he said, giving Arthur a wink and then skipping down the aisle.

Arthur looked around the church, his heart hardening at the sight of the empty pews and trampled decorations. He dug the engraved flask his sister had given him out of his suit jacket and raised it in a salute. 

“Fuck this,” he declared and drank the whole thing.


	2. Christmas Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur, Eames. Eames, Arthur.

**_Six Months Later..._ **

_ “...but I plead Christmas, _

_ That’s why I’m here, _

_ Standing on your doorstep, _

_Channelling_ _ Shakespeare...” _

That goddamn song was playing again. Arthur rubbed him temples, trying to block out the warble of the singer’s voice. Surely that much vibrato wasn’t necessary in a Christmas song.

“We will now start pre-boarding for flight 938 to Cleveland, Ohio…”

Although grateful for the reprise, Arthur tuned out the mumbled voice of the flight attendant. The radio mic was practically in the guy’s mouth and Arthur didn’t qualify for preboarding anyway. His eyes scanned the crowd for the guy in the teal and eggplant button down he’d noticed wandering around their gate. Arthur was pretty sure the shirt was direct from the Zack Morris date-rape collection, but it was draped over strong, broad shoulders and when Arthur spotted him in front of a tired looking woman and her protesting toddler, he lingered just long enough on Eggplant’s ass to commit it to memory. It was a six-hour flight and he’d forgotten to charge his kindle; it wouldn’t hurt to have something to think about other than the fresh hell that awaited him when he arrived. Eggplant turned to frown at a man in a business suit complaining loudly about there being a “brat” on the flight, and when he caught Arthur’s eye, he winked.

Arthur rolled his eyes towards the old guy and the Eggplant smiled and mimed a jerk-off motion while crossing his eyes. Arthur snorted inelegantly, his cheeks growing warm. He ducked his head, sneaking one last peek at Eggplant and blushing harder when the stranger looked charmed.

By the time he found his seat, Eggplant was sitting pretty in first-class, directly behind the guy in the suit, and the woman with the toddler was smiling apologetically at Arthur over the head of her sticky child. Arthur reassured her that he was fine and the head of the cabbage patch kid her child had swung at his crotch hadn’t made contact, but it had and he maybe needed to vomit now. He was still feeling queasy as the plane took off, rising above the early morning fog of Seattle to race at 575 miles per hour towards what was sure to be the second-worst family gathering of Arthur’s life. At least he had a window seat. 

He fell asleep early on, silently thanking whoever created noise-cancelling earbuds, and woke to two empty seats beside him and all traces of the woman and child gone. His mouth was dry and he could feel drool crust on his chin when he yawned. Checking his phone, he was surprised to find they were three hours through the flight already. A flame of panic surged in his chest because he’d meant to use the long flight to prepare himself for what he had to do. But instead, he’d fallen asleep, wasting precious minutes he needed to centre himself and put on the mask he now wore around almost everyone he knew.

He was trying to take steadying breaths when Eggplant slid into the aisle seat with a grunt and a smile. Arthur was so startled he forgot to panic, and simply stared at the man with his mouth open.

“You’ve got drool on your chin,” Eggplant remarked, sounding amused and starting at Arthur like they were old friends. 

_ Dear God, _ Arthur thought.  _ Eggplant has an accent.  _ “What are you doing here?” he blurted, absently wiping his chin with the back of his hand.

The man looked around the cabin. “Same thing we’re all doing here, I imagine. Flying to Montreal. Well, I suppose some people may be staying in Ohio, but I’m connecting to Montreal. What about you?”

“What?” Arthur responded, still scratching at the crust beside his mouth.

“Are you going to Ohio or further on?” the man repeated slowly.

“I’m going to a wedding,” Arthur told him in a hushed voice.

The man leaned over the empty seat between them, whispering: “Is it a secret wedding?” 

“What? No. Who has a secret wedding?” Arthur asked, his brain coming back online. “I meant what are you doing sitting here. You were in first class, I saw you.”

“Knew you noticed me,” said the smuggest eggplant Arthur had ever seen.

“How could anyone not notice the travesty of that shirt? It practically screams to be gawked at.”

The man smiled. “Worked, didn’t it?”

“I don’t think I like you,” Arthur blurted.

“Mother always did say I make a terrible first impression,” he said soberly.

“This is my second impression of you, the first was better.”

“Would it help my case to admit I switched seats with the mum and babe just to torment the taint-wafer sitting in front of me?”

Arthur thought about it for a minute, then extended his hand over the empty seat. “Arthur.”

“Eames,” the man said, accepting Arthur’s hand.

“Is that a first name or last?”

Eames laughed. “Last, my first name is a travesty and I shan't give my parents the satisfaction of using it.”

“I understand completely, my sister’s name is Treakle,” Arthur confessed, smiling at the horrified look on Eames’ face. “She goes by Tree.”

“Good lord, who would do that to a child?”

“People who are obsessed with all things Christmas, like my family is.”

“But you’re name is Arthur and that’s perfectly acceptable,” Eames pointed out.

“Ah, but my middle name is Scrooge.”

Eames’ eyes went wide. “It is not!”

Arthur laughed. “No, it’s not. But it  _ is _ Ebeneezer. Scrooge is my nickname.”

Eames eyed him carefully. “I can’t tell if you’re lying or not.”

“And you’ll never know,” Arthur teased, shrugging. “Because you’re going to Montreal and I’m staying in Ohio.”

“For a wedding,” Eames said.

“For a wedding,” Arthur confirmed with a sigh.

“But not a secret wedding.”

“No, all the secrecy happened last summer,” Arthur told him, unsure of why he’s divulging so much information about himself. “At my wedding.”

It may have been his imagination, but he swore Eames winced. “You’re married then?”

“Nope,” Arthur said, smiling at the flight attendant behind Eames. “I need some whiskey, please.”

Eames watched Arthur knock back the first drink and order another, letting the alcohol settle warm and steady in his stomach before speaking.

“So, wedding but no marriage?”

“Left at the altar,” Arthur told him, raising his glass in salute to his long lost dignity.

“Jesus, who does that?” Eames asked.

“My ex-fiance,” Arthur laughed. “And my cousin, I guess.”

“Darling, please tell me your cousin wasn’t your fiance,” Eames said seriously.

“Ask me why I’m going to Ohio, Eames,” Arthur dared, turning in his seat.

Eames grimaced. “Why are you going to Ohio, Arthur?”

Arthur laughed, slightly unhinged. “Because the man who abandoned me and the cousin who stole him are getting married.”

Eames swore under his breath.


	3. Help for the Holidays

“And you’re  _ going _ to the bloody wedding?” Eames balked, jaw dropping. His mouth was pink and lush, the last drop of whiskey still wet on his lips. 

“Haf’ta,” Arthur explained. “My mom would be _‘utterly_ _devastated’_ if I don’t.” 

“I know we’ve only just met, pet,” Eames told him, scrunching up his nose and snickering. “Pet. Met. Anyway, Arthur. Arrrtthur,” Eames purred, leaning halfway across the empty seat between them. ”Arthur, you are a much better person than I.”

Arthur waved off the compliment. “I’m really, really not. Just ask my family,” Arthur giggled into his plastic cup. “Don’t even deserve a shitty fiance who refuses to pre-sort the recycling and who doesn’t sing along to the radio. Who doesn’t sing along,  _ Jack _ ? It’s not normal!” 

The woman across the aisle shushed him and he grinned when Eames’ warm fingers covered his mouth, warm and a little moist. 

“Shh!” Eames admonished, dragging the pads of his fingers over Arthur’s lips before dropping his hand into his lap. “Now, important question. How hot is your plus one?”

“I...don’t have one,” Arthur admitted.

The look Eames gave him was ridiculous. Some kind of pouty-lipped, nostril-flared squint that Arthur thinks means he’s disappointed Eames somehow.

“Sorry if I’ve spent the last six months putting my life back together instead of jumping onto the next dick I see,” he defended, daring the woman across the aisle to shush him again.

Eames turned a cough into a laugh and resumed his stern demeanor. “If you can’t find one, you purchase one, Arthur.”

“I’m sorry, crazy stranger, are you suggesting I pay someone to pose as my lover? To help me dupe my family, to  _ lie _ to them, just to save face and make them believe I’ve moved onto a happy, healthy—”

“And passionate.”

Arthur nodded. “And  _ passionate _ !” 

“And satisfying.”

“So freaking satisfying!”

“And flexible.”

“I am!” Arthur agreed.

Eames chuckled. “And loud.”

“They already know that,” Arthur grinned. “But if you’re suggesting I do all of that, then I only have one thing to say to you, Eames.”

“What’s that, darling?”

“Are you that kind of man?”

“For you, love,” Eames took Arthur’s hand, pressing a dry kiss to the back of it. “I could be.”


	4. A Boyfriend for Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You could say that Arthur and Eames have good chemis-tree.

“Are we really doing this?” Arthur wondered out loud. Eames laughed from the driver’s seat of the convertible he’d insisted they rent for the short drive even though it was forty degrees outside and they couldn’t put the top down. At least they’d sobered up.

“Isn’t it about time I meet your family, love?” Eames didn’t take his eyes off the snow-packed road, but he managed to bat them ridiculously all the same.

“Already in character, very method,” Arthur drawled, relaxing into the heated leather seats. Okay, maybe the car wasn’t  _ that _ impractical. 

_ “...there’s only so much I can do, _

_ So much I can say, _

_ To have you fall in love with me, _

_ Before Christmas day...” _

The song was back, making Arthur groan and switch off the radio. Eames grunted in displeasure, but Arthur’s sanity was barely hanging in there and he needed to think.

“Should I tell you about them?”

“If you like,” Eames answered, not taking his eyes off the snowy road. “Takes the fun out of guessing, though.”

“But if we were dating I’d have told you about them,” Arthur pointed out.

Eames shrugged. “Did you tell Jack about them before they met?”

Arthur frowned, thinking back to how carefully he’d kept the two sides of his life separated. “That’s not relevant.”

“Okay,” Eames chuckled. “Any siblings?”

“Just my sister Tree, we’re twins.”

“Twins?” Eames hummed with a smile. “Excellent.”

“Gross,” Arthur said, staring out the window. “She has two kids, ten, also twins, Avery and Elden.”

“Born together, best friends forever,” Eames quoted, grinning. “Parents?”

Arthur blew out a heavy breath. “Just my mother. She never really liked Jack when we were together, but she practically planned this wedding for him and Holly. She cried when Holly proposed.  _ Cried _ . How’s that for betraying your own child?”

Eames winced, but didn’t comment.

“The most difficult is my Uncle Noel. He’s been the patriarch since my grandfather passed. He’s always teasing and joking, but pointedly, you know?”

“He’s a bully,” Eames surmised.

“Exactly! That’s exactly it. He knows just what to say to make it sting, and if you get upset, he makes you feel like you’re ridiculous and overreacting. I hate him,” Arthur declared.

“So I should definitely engage him as soon as possible,” Eames said.

“No, we should stay as far away from him as possible. I haven’t seen him since Jack left me and he’s had six months to work out the most painful ways to remind me of the humiliation.”

“Humiliation? Darling, all that led you to me,” Eames flashed him a grin. “And as far as they’re concerned, I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

“Right, and how do I explain it when they never see you again?”

Eames’ hand landed on Arthur’s knee, gentle and warm. “That’s a problem for another day, Arthur. Just trust me.”

“Trust you, right,” Arthur scoffed. “This is crazy.”

“Like a fox,” Eames agreed, laughing. 

“What else do you want to know?” Arthur asked, eyeing the GPS as they neared the turn off to the Frost Family Christmas Tree Farm.

“That’s all, I’ll improvise the rest,” Eames waved away his concern.

“But you don’t know anything about me,” Arthur protested.

“Don’t I?” Eames asked, raising an eyebrow and turning off the main road. At Arthur’s unimpressed look, he continued. “I know you’re a consummate professional because you just flew across the country in a suit and still look as lush as freshly fallen snow. I’d say an accountant or lawyer, but the paisley tie adds too much whimsy for that, so I’m going to go with...architect?”

“You got that from my tie?” Arthur asked, dubious.

“Am I right?”

Arthur folded his arms across his chest. “Yes.”

“Then hush and let me work. Now, you loved Jack, like, actually loved him. Wanted to believe a forever life with him was possible despite your incompatibility, so you’ve got a romantic streak that I intend to play up in order to sell this charade. From what little you’ve told me of your family, you  _ do _ care what they think of you, against your better judgement. Family is important to you, as is this place,” Eames said as they drove under the sign for the farm. They crested the hill, three hundred acres of pristine farmland spread out before them, filled with picturesque snow-capped trees, and Arthur couldn’t stop the sigh that escaped him. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah,” Arthur agreed. “I grew up here. But it’s been a long time since I’ve been back.”

“Since your grandfather died, I’d guess.”

Arthur turned to Eames, looking him over. “You’re freakishly good at this.”

Eames laughed. “It’s all in your file.”

“My file? Oh, I see, you’re some kind of Christmas saviour that’s come to help me through the holidays and restore my faith in love, and humankind, and puppies,” Arthur joked.

“If you’ve lost faith in puppies, I’m afraid you’re beyond saving,” Eames told him seriously, parking outside the large house on the south side of the property.

“Tell me more, oh Christmas angel.” Arthur put his hand under his chin and started at Eames.

Eames cut the engine and turned to face him. “You let me get the car despite its impracticality, so you’re open to spontaneity, but you got extra insurance so you’re not completely being reckless.”

“The roads are ice, I’m not an idiot.”

“But, you were willing to bring a total stranger along to meet your family and pretend to be your significant other, so you’re aching for some sort of connection and felt that with me. You don’t suffer fools, so I can only assume my charm and off-beat good looks are at a high enough standard to have you hoping we’ll at least share a kiss at some point so you can test your connection theory.”

Arthur was dumbfounded. “You know what happens when you assume,” he choked out.

“Yeah, your ass is all mine,” Eames winked and threw open the car door.

“This is a terrible idea,” Arthur muttered before following. No one came out to greet them, though there were several vehicles parked in the yard. He wrestled the bags out of Eames’ hands, needing something to put between him and… everything, and lead the way up the path to the house. Eames had been delighted at the baggage carousel when he discovered they had matching luggage, claiming kismet, and fate, and a bunch of other nonsense was responsible. In reality, Arthur bought his based on quality and consumer ratings, and Eames bought his based on its resemblance to the money cases on $100,000 Pyramid.

“It looks like a postcard,” Eames remarked, admiring the view laid out in front of the picturesque farmhouse. “Like one of those Timothy Pinkerton paintings.”

“Thomas Kinkade,” Arthur corrected with a huff. “And he painted it back in the 90s.”

Eames laughed, looking extremely amused at what Arthur considered a kitschy anecdote in the bucolic life of the farm. It wasn’t that Arthur didn’t see the appeal of the farm, and the house, and all that, but for him it represented something different. Something more. The house itself, with the cornflower blue siding and white wrap-around porch, the peaked roof blanketed in snow, the stone pathway, cleared with precision to showcase its charm, was more than the place he grew up. It was where hope and warmth had grown in his heart. Where he learned to trust himself and built his confidence. Where he learned to love. 

Now, without the shepherding presence of his Grandfather, it all felt hollow. The rooms were empty and the lights didn’t shine as bright. Even the trees in the yard seemed smaller. Wilted. Weak.

“Do we knock?” Eames asked, pulling Arthur out of his mournful memories and into the miserable present.

“No, it’s never locked.”

Eames waggled his eyebrows, a gleeful smile on his ridiculously handsome face, and opened the door. Arthur was immediately hit with the scent of cinnamon and ginger, a blast of warmth and spice tickling his nose, just like when he was a kid. He sneezed violently, twice, his entire body erupting in goosebumps. He shivered and shook it off as Eames stared at him, eyebrows nearly disappearing into this hairline.

“I’m allergic to cinnamon,” Arthur explained with a sniff.

“Arthur?” A woman’s voice called. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Arthur closed the door behind them, and braced for impact. Just as his hand left the doorknob, a body crashed into him, arms wrapping around to hug him just a little too tight.

“Hey, Tree,” he said into a halo of dark hair.

His sister pulled back to look him over, her face an open book as usual, broadcasting her worry.

“I didn’t think you’d actually come.”

“And let them win?” Arthur scoffed with more confidence than he felt. “Never.”

“Oh, Arthur,” Tree said, smiling. 

“Hello,” Eames said, leaning between them. “I’m Eames, his beau.”

“Oh! Hello!” Tree exclaimed, pulling Eames into a hug and winking at Arthur over his shoulder. “Oh, Arthur, yes!”

“Thought that was my line,” Eames teased, winking.

Arthur rolled his eyes but Tree burst into delighted gigglies. “Don’t get excited, Tree, he’s just—”

“New,” Eame cut him off with a pointed look. “I’m new.  _ We’re _ new.”

“And you’ve come to brave the family? Must be serious,” Tree said, her eyes flicking between them.

“He tries to tell me I’m nothing but arm candy, but I see through him,” Eames confided. “You know how Arthur is.”

Tree nodded, her face grave. “I do. We didn’t even know about Jack until they were engaged!”

Arthur winced.

Tree’s hand went to her mouth “Oh shit, I’m sorry, Arthur.”

He shrugged. “It’s fine, it’s fine. I’m over it, it’s fine.”

Tree stared at him like she expected him to shatter at the slightest touch, making Arthur’s skin itch. He wasn’t frail. He wasn’t going to break down and sob through the wedding or anything. He had moved on. Plus, he had enough Xanax in his suitcase to put down a rhino.

“And he has me now,” Eames said, winding his arm around Arthur’s waist and pulling him close.

“Right! Of course!” Tree laughed, relieved. “Well, let’s get you settled. Everyone else has claimed their rooms so you two will be in the attic.”

“What? Who’s in my room?” Arthur demanded.

“Um, Jack is,” Tree said.

Arthur stumbled on the stairs, falling back a bit before colliding with the solid warmth of Eames.

“They’re doing the whole, no sleeping together until after the wedding thing,” Tree said, giving him a worried look.

Arthur scoffed and straightened his suit. “Didn’t seem to bother them much before my wedding.”

“Well, we have no intention of sleeping separately,” Eames chimed in. “Sharing a bed with Arthur is the highlight of my nights.”

Arthur relaxed a little at Tree’s laugh. He’d have to remember to thank Eames for breaking the tension yet again.

“It gets cold in the attic, so I’m sure you’ll be cuddled up like penguins!”

“Penguins are actually quite violent and depraved,” Arthur told her.

“Yeah, I know,” Tree said, grinning and opening the doorway to the attic. Eames laughed, his breath warm on Arthur’s neck as he followed.

The space was nothing like Arthur remembered; it was no longer dark and drafty with the smell of dust and old books thick in the air. The attic now looked like it had been cut from a magazine with a light and airy feel. Calming grey walls complemented the white-washed wooden floor, with subtle wintery accents hidden all over. Windows had been added to open up the room and Arthur breathed it the changes, relaxing despite his trepidation. He used to be afraid of the attic and it’s shadows and odd noises, but now he could see the charm in it. It was a large room, spanning half the width of the floor below it. The one thing that hadn’t changed was the stacks of old ledgers from the farm, now carefully displayed on bookshelves and labelled with his mother’s delicate cursive hand. Knowing they were still there settled something inside his mind. Like maybe things hadn’t changed so much after all.

“Mom needed a project after you left,” Tree explained. 

Eames sat heavily on the bed, bouncing with a lascivious grin. “This will be fun.”

“We should pick up some WD-40 unless we want to keep the whole house up,” Arthur quipped to cover his reaction to the news.

“Great-Grandma Edith made those blankets, Arthur, have a little respect,” his sister teased.

“I’m sure they’ve seen worse. Didn’t you lose your virginity up here in high school?” Arthur asked, making Tree growl in anger.

“You jackass, I told you that in confidence!” Tree took off her slipper and threw it at Arthur, catching him in the shoulder.

Arthur rolled his eyes and dodged the second one. “Please, we all heard you and Bobby Scrill going at it.”

“Arthur Ebenezer Baum, take that back!” she demanded.

“Never!” Arthur swore, gathering the slippers and tossing them down the stairway.

“I’m telling Mom,” she hissed, going after them.

“Your last name is Baum?” Eames whispered, incredulous.

Arthur smiled, feeling light and warm from the playful argument with Tree. “Wasn’t that in your file?”

“They must have left it out,” Eames said, eyeing Arthur closely. “Makes me wonder what else I don’t know about you.”

Arthur laughed and stepped closer to him. “Oh Eames, I’m full of surprises.”


	5. A Homecoming for the Holidays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur's family gets sour, but Eames just gets sweeter.

Tree left them to get unpacked and Eames set the luggage on opposite sides of the bed. 

“Thanks again for doing this,” Arthur said quietly, unzipping his case. “It’s already easier than I expected. Tree likes to worry about me and with you here it takes some of the pressure off, you know?”

“I do,” Eames said, popping open his bag. “I’m practically a professional distraction, darling.”

“I mean, she doesn’t need to worry, because I’m fine,” Arthur continued, needing to convince Eames he wasn’t the sad sack his family thought he was. “I’m sturdy. I can take a pounding and get right back up, ready for more.”

Eames choked and coughed, his face turning red.

“Are you okay?” Arthur asked.

“Fine,” he gasped. “But I think you’ve got my bag.”

Arthur frowned and unzipped the case in front of him, opening it up to reveal a wide array of retina-scorching clothing and a worn leather shave kit. His blood went cold as Eames let loose a giggle.

“Close the bag,” Arthur demanded, scrambling over the bed. “Close it!”

“It’s closed,” Eames declared, covering his mouth with his hand and stumbling out of the way as Arthur tumbled off the bed and secured the bag. He held it to his chest, face and neck flushed with mortification.

“You didn’t see anything,” Arthur declared.

Eames pursed his lips and shook his head. “Nope, nothing.”

“Good,” Arthur spat, rounding the bed and throwing the entire suitcase into the wardrobe instead of unpacking. 

Eames hummed, following Arthur back down the attic stairs. He remained quiet, half a step behind Arthur as they made their way to the main floor of the house. They were just outside the kitchen, Arthur’s humiliation having almost dissipated, when Eames’ breath ghosted across the back of his neck.

“What was it, ten, twelve inches?”

Arthur groaned and smacked his head on the wall beside the door. So much for calm and collected.

“I only ask because I’m impressed, darling.” Eames’ hand landed on Arthur’s hip, giving a playful squeeze and chuckling darkly. “The likeness is uncanny.”

Arthur’s mouth went dry at what Eames was suggesting, but before he could question it or inform Eames that it was actually fourteen inches long, he was being manhandled through the kitchen door in a manner that did nothing to discourage his burgeoning hard-on.

“Arthur, you’re here!” his mother cried, effectively killing his arousal.

“Mom,” he started, not knowing where to go from there. His eyes skipped to his Aunt Candy and Tree’s twins, Avery and Elden, who were all seated around the table decorating cookies. “Hi everyone.”

“You’ve brought someone home,” his mother remarked and the twins shared a wide-eyed look.

Arthur turned to Eames who simply smiled indulgently. “This is Eames, he’s, um.”

“Pleased to finally meet you,” Eames chucked, offering his hand.

Arthur’s mother let out her own laugh, but it was short and sharp, like she’d forced it from her throat. “We hug,” she declared, opening her arms to Eames.

His mother almost disappeared under Eames’ bulk, the garity of his shirt swallowing her faded plaid button-up and apron as Arthur gawked at them. She was acting weird, even for her, and she’d never been that affectionate towards Jack, the only other person Arthur ever let meet his family. 

“You look thin,” his mother told him, releasing Eames and reaching for Arthur. “Is work too stressful?”

“No, mom,” he huffed, breathing in her familiar homey scent as she embraced him. “Work is fine.”

“We’ll get some home cooking in you, then you’ll feel better.”

Arthur stepped away, straightening his tie. “I feel fine.”

“I for one will accept all the foods you offer me,” Eames cut in, grinning. “Are those cookies?”

“We’re practicing,” Elden tells him, showing Eames the gingerbread cookie he’s decorating.

“Eames, this is Elden and Avery, Tree’s twins. And this is Candy, my aunt,” Arthur told him, moving past his mother’s awkwardness.

“I’m the mother of the bride,” Candy added, smiling brightly. Arthur did his best not to flinch as he bent over Avery’s work on the cookies.

“What’s the theme this year?” Arthur asked, resting his chin gently on his niece’s head.

“Classic Christmas movies, we’re doing It’s a Wonderful Life,” she told him.

“Nothing says Christmas like crushing debt and attempted suicide,” Arthur muttered.

“Don’t get too close, Arthur, you know the rules,” his aunt reminded him sternly.

He straightened, automatically taking a step back and hating himself for it. “I wasn’t touching anything.”

His aunt smiled. “We all know it takes less than that for Scrooge to appear.”

“Candy,” his mother admonished. “That was years ago.”

“Sorry, did I miss something?” Eames asked, throwing and arm over Arthur’s shoulders.

“I told you my nickname was Scrooge,” Arthur said tightly.

“I assumed it was because you’re naturally economical and altruistic,” Eames remarked, bopping Arthur on the nose and giving him a soft smile. Arthur smiled back, touched by Eames’ defence and the warmth it brought to his belly.

“Arthur was a clumsy child,” his mother explained, breaking the moment. “There was an ‘incident’.”

“More like a decimation,” Candy muttered.

“They still tell stories about it,” Elden added. “It’s legendary.”

Arthur scoffed, crossing his arms and leaning into Eames’ sturdy side. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“They say he made Great Grandpa Nick cry,” Avery adds, solemnly.

His mother made a distressed noise. “To be fair, they were tears of laughter. He thought it was hilarious.”

“Well I didn’t,” Candy cut in. “We worked for days on that entry and Scrooge here destroyed it in a matter of seconds.”

Arthur grit his teeth and stared at the table. “I was trying to help.” 

“The other teams? Yes, dear, that much was clear,” his aunt said with fake sweetness.

“Where did Tree go?” he asked, needing the subject to change before he lost his temper.

“Her and Noel drew the Christmas tree from the chore jar this morning,” his mother explained. “Now, let me get you two settled in the other room with something to eat, I’m sure you’ve had a long day.”

Arthur gave in, letting his mother hustle them into the living room with individual chicken pot pies and large glasses of red wine. The furniture was arranged to one side of the room to make space for the Christmas tree his sister and uncle would return with.

“Explain this cookie fiasco to me,” Eames said after a few minutes of eating in silence. “Because you seem genuinely upset by it.”

Arthur sighed, abandoning his pie. “It’s not a big deal.”

Eames pressed a finger under his chin, forcing Arthur to meet his eyes. “Don’t lie to me. We’re already lying to all of them, we should keep things honest between us.”

Arthur frowned. “There’s fault in your logic, but I’m too tired to argue.”

“Good,” Eames smiled, motioning for Arthur to go on while he dug back into his food.

“Christmas is a big deal in my family, obviously, but the whole county takes it very seriously. Every year there are ridiculous events, like a Christmas scavenger hunt, a street market and festival, a barn dance, and the ever-important gingerbread competition. The year after my grandmother died, Aunt Candy and my mom got it into their heads that they needed to win the competition in her honour, which was ridiculous because my grandmother hated baking. She didn’t even cook! When I got mono in eighth grade she tried to heat up a can of soup for me and nearly burned down the house.”

“You were her favourite,” Eames said, amused.

“How do you figure that?”

“Because you said she didn’t cook, but that’s not true. For you, she did.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Technically she started an electrical fire.”

“It’s okay to be someone’s favourite, darling. You’re my favourite, too.” Eames winked and licked his fork.

Arthur bit back a smile and looked away. “Anyhoo, the theme that year was childhood memories or something like that, and they made a huge ferris wheel out of gingerbread. The things was probably four feet tall. The way the competition works is that you bring all your pieces pre-baked and then you have three hours to assemble everything. They’d practiced and had it all figured out, but when they started putting together the final product they found one of the junction holes on the wheel hadn’t been cut properly and the support rod was too big.”

“This is thrilling,” Eames whispered like he meant it. 

“Aunt Candy tried to shave away at the gingerbread without breaking it, but her hand slipped and she cut herself. She pulled away before blood got on anything, but the cut was deep and it was clear she couldn’t continue. There wasn’t time for Mom to finish on her own, so I volunteered.”

“My hero,” Eames grinned.

“I’d helped with the practice pieces, so I was sure I could do it.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” Arthur told him. “It was great. Candy refused to go for stitches until a winner was declared, and we finished in time. I don’t know if we would have won, but it was pretty spectacular.”

Eames nodded. “And then?”

“And then I tripped. There was icing and gingerbread all over the place and I slipped and kicked the table hard enough to send everything crashing to the ground,” Arthur finished, replaying the memory in his head, the look of shock on his mother’s face painful even now.

“Arthur,” Eames started, a confused look on his face.

“I know, I know, I should have been more careful. Believe me, I’ve heard all the scolding in the world about it. I mean, it’s been fifteen years and they’re all still holding a grudge. Won’t let me anywhere near the kitchen at Christmas.”

“Arthur, stop.” Eames laid a warm hand on his arm. “None of that was your fault. It was an accident and you were a kid. You tripping is no different than your aunt cutting herself.”

Arthur gave him a sad smile. “It’s okay, Eames. I’m over it.”

“Really?” Eames asked, skeptical.

“Completely,” Arthur assured him, leaning closer. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“I’m dying for you to,” Eames said meeting him halfway, until they were only inches apart.

“I take baking classes, just incase they let me back in. I make amazing brioche.”

Eames’ eyes widened. “Do they know?”

Arthur scoffed. “Of course not. If they knew I couldn’t blow them away when they finally let me back in.”

There was something hard in Eames’ eyes, but when he spoke his voice was warm and conspiratory. “I think the time has come, darling.”

“What do you mean?” Arthur asked, getting excited despite his natural caution.

“We’re entering that competition in secret, and we’re going to win,” Eames told him.

Arthur grinned. “Can we do that?  _ Should _ we do that?”

“Abso-jingle-lutely!” Eames crowed. “Now, there’s just one more important thing I must know.”

“What’s that?” Arthur asked, leaning close.

“Who kissed you and gave you mono?”


	6. Fir Crazy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas flex and Arthur's ex.

By the time Tree and his uncle returned it was dark out and the kids had abandoned the kitchen cookie factory to join Arthur and Eames in the living room for a round of Christmas Uno, which was just like regular Uno, except the cards all had reindeer on them and when you’re down to one you yelled ‘Rudolph’. The twins were trouncing them, but Arthur hadn’t laughed that much in months and he felt warm and happy in his family home with Eames by his side. He was pondering how he could feel so close to someone after knowing them less than a day when his uncle stomped through the door and sucked all the good energy out of the room.

“The prodigal son returns!” Noel bellowed the moment he saw Arthur. He was wrapped in a thick red jacket, his beard white with frost, and somehow an even larger presence than when Arthur was a child.

“Move,” Tree complained, pushing him further into the house. “I’m freezing my ass off out here.”

“Freckles and Speckles, get your coats on and help us with the tree,” Noel ordered, the twins jumping up excitedly to help. “You too, Scrooge. And bring your nutcracker, he looks like he can carry a tree.”

Arthur sighed and climbed to his feet.

“Will it really take all of us to get it inside?” Eames asked, slipping into his boots.

Arthur chuckled. “Believe me, you’ve never seen a tree like this before.”

“Holy giant spruce,” Eames declared once they were outside. 

“You knew it was a spruce?” Arthur asked, pleased.

“Lucky guess,” Eames admitted.

“Don’t worry, I couldn’t tell the trees apart until I was at least four,” Elden told him.

Eames laughed. “Oh, well then.” 

They managed to get the tree off the trailer and into the house without much fuss since it was netted expertly, and setting it up was done with practised ease as Eames stood back and watched them work.

“This is the biggest tree I’ve ever seen indoors,” he told them.

Noel clucked his tongue. “This one’s only about fourteen feet. The one last year was seventeen. It’s Eames, right? I’m Noel Frost. Tree told me about your unexpected appearance.”

Eames shook Noel’s hand. “I hope she used favourable words.”

“Mostly told me to be nice,” Noel laughed loudly. “I’m just surprised Scrooge brought another one home after the last time.”

“Noel,” Arthur’s mother scolded, coming into the room with a tray of hot chocolate.

“Calm down, Winnie, I’m just joshing him in front of his boy.”

“Hardly a boy,” Tree remarked, blatantly checking Eames out.

“If you’re done harassing my son and his guest, you can go help the twins with the ornaments,” Winnie said, smacking Noel’s hand away from the drinks.

“Come on, Uncle Noel, you can get the ones from the top shelf,” Avery told him, bounding down the hall toward the basement door, Elden and Noel following, hand in hand.

“They seem close,” Eames remarked.

Tree smiled. “They are. We’re a little short of male role models around here since Arthur ran away and Noel adores them.”

“Arthur had a life to live beyond these trees,” Arthur informed them, draining the rest of his abandoned wine.

“But you’re here now,” his mother said, setting down the tray. 

“Where are those lovebirds?” Candy questioned, entering with a plate piled with cookies. “They’ve been gone for hours.”

Arthur tensed at the mention of Jack and Holly and then Eames’ hand was rubbing his back, slow and firm.

“They wanted some time together before the chaos of their big day, leave them alone,” Winnie said, handing out hot chocolate. Arthur settled onto the loveseat beside the tree and pretended to be absorbed in the quality of the needles.

“There’s still so much to do before then,” Candy went on. “And I’m swamped with the gingerbread competition. Thank god for your mother, Arthur, she’s become Holly’s right hand in all this wedding business. I guess this might be her only chance to plan a wedding; not like you or Tree are racing to the altar.”

Tree snorted. “I guess we’re just not into sloppy seconds like Holly is.”

“Treakle Ginger Baum!” Winnie shouted as Eames choked on his hot chocolate. Arthur bit into his cheek to keep from laughing, sending a covert grin to Tree over their mother’s shoulder. Candy’s face was red but just as she opened her mouth to respond, the front door slammed open and the soon-to-be newlyweds stumbled through it in a haze of snow, laughter, and apple red cheeks.

Eames moved closer to Arthur and pulled a flask out of his back pocket. Arthur held out his mug of, eyes carefully averted from the catalogue shoot of true love in front of them. 

“Mmm, peppermint,” he mumbled, smacking his lips.

“Always prepared,” Eames told him with a smile.

“Look who we found lurking in the basement,” Noel thundered, coming down the hallway, three Rubbermaid bins stacked in his hands and Berry, his and Candy’s youngest trailing behind him, looking put-out.

“We seem to be right one time,” Jack said, helping Holly with her coat but stopping dead when he noticed Arthur.

“Surprise,” Tree said with glee. “Arthur’s home!”

“And he’s brought someone,” his mother added.

“This is my boyfriend Eames,” Arthur told them, tangling his hand with Eames’ wide fingers. “Eames, his is Jack and Holly. And that’s Berry, Holly’s—”

“You brought a plus one?” Holly interrupted, shocked and angry. 

“He did, and in case anyone is worried, I’m very homosexual and completely in enamoured with Arthur’s, well, all of Arthur,” Eames grinned and shook his finger. “So don’t you go trying to seduce me away. I’m looking at you, Tree.”

“I make no promises,” Tree said with a wink.

“No, I mean you didn’t rsvp with a plus one,” Holly complained, ignoring the banter. “Aunty, we’re going to have to rework the seating chart!”

Winnie smiled comfortingly. “Don’t worry dear, I’ve already fixed it.”

“Do I really have to be here for this?” Berry asked, bored.

“Yes,” everyone answered.

The schnapps in his drink warmed him as an argument started between Berry and Noel. The twins got caught stealing cookies and Arthur relaxed into the cushions because finally, he was starting to feel at home.


	7. Every Christmas has a Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recipe for Love
> 
> 2 parts Ornament Stories  
> 3 parts Familial humiliation  
> 1 part Reassurance  
> 2 parts Shared Secrets
> 
> Mix gently and let simmer until warm and bubbly. Will keep, well tended, until Happily Ever After.

“I don’t understand the obsession with real Christmas trees,” Eames confided quietly, once the lights had been strung and everyone was opening their labeled bins. Christmas music played in the background and that goddamn song was making its rounds in his head again.

_ “...one bottle of spirits, _

_ Two hearts frozen in ice, _

_ Chip off the block, _

_ I want to be your vice...” _

Arthur turned to him. “We run a Christmas tree farm, why would we have a fake tree?”

“No, no, I get that  _ you _ have one, but why do other people get them? It seems like such a pain in the arse. Cutting it down, transporting it home, then there’s the watering and the needles falling everywhere. I don’t understand the effort people put in when they can just go pick up a plastic one at the store and save themselves the trouble.”

Arthur sat back, thinking about it. “Sometimes the effort put in  _ is _ the reason. It’s something families can do together. Work side-by-side to create something beautiful that represents all of them. Creating a tradition can be just as important as maintaining one.”

Eames tilted his head and smiled. “Knew you were a romantic.”

“Don’t get too excited, I have a plastic one at home,” Arthur confided.

Eames’ eyes went wide, his mouth slack with surprise.

“Tell anyone and I’ll turn you into mulch,” Arthur whispered.

“Another secret,” Eames said, eyes warm on Arthur’s face. “Soon I’ll know them all.”

“Then what will you do?” he asked, smirking.

“Then I shall have to keep you,” Eames told him quietly, laying his arm over the back of the couch, fingers brushing Arthur’s shoulder. They had turned toward each other, heads bent and faces close, Arthur nearly forgetting they weren’t alone until one of the kids screeched in excitement, drawing them back.

He cleared his throat and went back to his bin, catching Tree’s pleased smile as he dove into sorting his ornaments.

“I think I understand the need for a mammoth tree,” Eames laughed, watching everyone with their bins.

“This isn’t even all of it,” Avery said. “We have to save room for Uncle Klaus and Aunt Neva.”

“And Paloma and Forest!” Elden added. 

“Is that all of you, then?” Eames asked.

“And Jasper, Noel and Candy’s son,” Winnie told him. “He runs the tree lot set up in town. The extendeds will be here for the wedding, but they’ll stay at the inn.”

“Do you have a large family, Eames?” Jack asked, obviously trying to be polite. It made Arthur want to spit.

“Not really, no. It was just me and my Granddad growing up, and he passed years ago.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, dear,” Winnie said, reaching across the coffee table to pat his hand. “I hope we’re not overwhelming you.”

Eames laughed, his other hand landing heavy and warm on the back of Arthur’s neck. “Not at all, I’ve always wanted a lot of people around for Christmas. Just one more way Arthur’s making all my dreams come true,” he said while Arthur blushed furiously.

“Can I go first?” Elden asked, having grown bored with the adults’ talking.

“You’re the youngest,” Noel told him. “That means you’re up.”

“That’s not fair,” Avery complained.

“It’s literally the only advantage us younger twins have,” Arthur teased.

“Yeah,” Elden told her, proudly hanging a pair of tiny figure skates as high up as he could reach.

Avery rolled her eyes, looking so much like Tree at that age Arthur felt bad for the years he’d missed being away. “Whatever, my turn!”

“All the ornaments mean something,” Tree explained. “A hobby, or a memory.”

“That’s why Scrooge’s are all random,” Noel said, nudging Berry toward the tree with an ornament. “He always jumped from one to another without finishing anything.”

“It made him well-rounded, I think,” Winnie said.

“It’s true,” Jack added, drawing a frown from Noel. “He knows something about everything. Always has something interesting to say.”

Jack gave him a small smile, but Arthur couldn’t return it. “It’s your turn,” he mumbled instead. Eames hand gave a light squeeze at his nape and he leaned closer.

“Holly gave me this yesterday,” Jack informed them, hanging a gold heart with two turtle doves on the tree.

“And Jack gave me this,” Holly laughed, jumping up to hang the exact same ornament next to it.

“Oh, that’s perfect! I knew you were meant to be!” Candy cried, clapping.

Arthur really, really didn’t want to go next, but once Holly and Jack shared a kiss, the others turned to him. He stuck his hand in the bin and pulled an ornament out at random, not even standing to add it to the tree. 

Holly snickered and Noel laughed, and only then did Arthur realize which one he’d selected.

“No changing it!” Tree yelled when Arthur’s hand moved to remove it. “You want to tell the story behind that one, or should I?” Arthur glared at her and she cackled.

“What is it?” Eames asked, looking around Arthur to see. “A pillow?”

The others hid smiles and laughter in coughs and behind cups, but it was too late, Arthur’s entire body was flush with embarrassment.

“Once upon a time,” Tree started, affecting a lower voice. “On an enchanted Christmas tree farm, a young man named Arthur had a crush on a boy named Devon.”

“Oh my god,” Arthur groaned, hiding his face in his hands.

“But Devon was something of a cad, you see, and though Arthur desperately—”

“I wasn’t desperate, I was thirteen!” Arthur injected.

“He was  _ desperate _ to kiss him, despite his own inexperience. So dear, precious Arthur decided his best course of action was to practice.”

“Oh darling,” Eames said mournfully.

“On a pillow!” Tree howled, the others laughing heartily.

“I hate you all,” Arthur told them, pouting. 

“I caught him at it and bought him the ornament that Christmas,” Tree added. “He didn’t talk to me for a whole month!”

“Because you’re evil,” Arthur told her.

“I hope your technique has improved since then,” Candy said, chuckling.

“It has,” Jack said, looking surprised at his own admission.

Arthur sunk lower in the cushions and tried not to look smug as Holly and Candy glared at him from across the room.

Tree took out a gaudy, handmade snowball ornament the kids made her in kindergarten and soon everyone had moved on, sharing jokes and memories of their own.

Eames slouched next to him, laying his head on Arthur’s shoulder. “Mine was a stuffed bear.”

“Your what?”

“My kissing pillow,” Eames explained quietly. “Had a great wide faux leather nose. Snogged that bugger until it peeled.”

Arthur stared at him in shock, searching for dishonestly, but found none. A grin split over his face and he couldn’t help put peck Eames on the cheek, stubble tickling his lips. “Thank you.”

Eames’ fingers brushed over where Arthur has kissed him, his eyes dropping to Arthur’s mouth.

“Uncle Arthur, it’s your turn again,” Avery said, throwing herself into his lap and forcing them to pull away. “Can I pick it for you?”

“Sure,” he said, adjusting her so she wasn’t crushing his spleen. Avery took her time rummaging through his bin, emerging with a miniature kayak.

“Oh, that’s from the summer Arthur was into watersports!” his mother cried out, making no less than three people do spit-takes with their hot chocolate, including Eames, who seemed to be having trouble breathing.

“What?” she asked, looking around in confusion. “What did I say?”


	8. Pride, Prejudice & Mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for family drama and Arthur angst. This one ends on a low note, but tomorrow's is happy and gay. So gay.
> 
> Also, I have the flu. My partner has the flu and my two children have the flu. Please pity me and don't yell at me if the next chapter is a little late.

Arthur stared at the bed, just then coming to terms with the fact that he was going to share a bed with a virtual stranger he met on an air plane. He wanted to question how he got there, but honestly, it was all a blur. Maybe Eames really was some kind of Christmas angel because Arthur wasn’t a spontaneous person and his actions lately were worryingly impulsive.

The stairs creaked as Eames climbed them, dressed in a loose Notre Dame t-shirt and soft-looking pyjama pants with dabbing gingerbread people all over them. He flashed Arthur a bright smile, but his eyes were tired and Arthur remembered this had been a long day for more than just him.

“Do you prefer one side over the other?” Eames asked, dropping his shaving bag on the dresser. 

“The middle,” Arthur answered truthfully.

Eames smirked. “Of course you do. I’ll just cling to the edges then, shall I?”

“You get a say, you know,” Arthur told him because he’d noticed that though Eames saved his ass several times that day, he ultimately went along with whatever Arthur wanted.

“It really doesn’t matter,” Eames insisted, giving him a funny look.

Arthur balled his hands into fists. “Yes, it does, pick a side.”

“Arthur—”

“Just tell me what you want, Eames!” Arthur demanded, startling both of them.

“I want this side,” Eames said after staring at Arthur for a moment.

“Good, was that so hard?” Arthur asked, turning his back to Eames and sitting on the side of the bed. He felt Eames pull back the covers and climb in, the mattress dipping as he settled. A firm hand pressed against Arthur’s back, thumb rubbing those little circles again.

“Something’s bothering you” Eames said quietly.

Arthur took a deep breath, letting it out and curving his shoulders forward. He barely knew Eames, but at the same time he felt like the man was his only ally in this clusterfudge of a holiday.

“I’m not acting like myself,” Arthur tried to explain. 

“Because you brought me along with you?” Eames guesses, a smile in his voice.

“Partly,” he agrees, turning toward Eames, folding his knee under him. “I’ve had a lot of anger since Jack left.”

“Of course you have, that’s to be expected.”

“And I had a lot of anger on the plane,” he continued. “And in the car. But now… it just feels like a lot of work to find that anger. Like I don’t have the energy for it. And I feel like I should still be angry. He left me at the altar. And Holly was like a sister to me, we were raised side-by-side, how could she hurt me like that?”

“I don’t have those answers, Arthur,” Eames tells him, his hand still rubbing gently. “But maybe this means you’re over it.”

“It’s only been six months,” Arthur argues. “We were together  _ two years _ .”

“Maybe Jack isn’t as good as you remember. You loved him, and that can trick you sometimes, make you blind to the ways they’re not perfect for you. Add to that to the shock and humiliation of being left in front of everyone one you know, and it’s a lot to deal with.”

“I thought seeing them together would make me vomit. I don’t love it, obviously, but I don’t… care.”

Eames smiled. “I don’t want to scare you, darling, but I think you’ve moved past it.”

Arthur frowns. “I wanted to throw Jack into a wood chipper when I woke up this morning.”

“And then you met me!” Eames laughed. “I have healed you with my magical Christmas spirit!”

“That’s a weird name for a penis,” Arthur remarked, unable to let the joke go unsaid.

“Is it?” Eames asked, brow furrowed adorably. “What’s yours called?” 

“The Grinch.”

“Because it’s green?”

Arthur smirked. “No, because it grows three sizes for play.”

Eames threw back his head and laughed, adam's apple bobbing as he sucked in a breath. He looked good, Arthur thought. Caught off guard and stunned. He looked like someone Arthur wouldn’t mind keeping in his life. He wondered if he and Eames might stay friends after all this or if Eames would simply walk off into the sunset. Surely he had something waiting for him in Montreal. Someone.

“Get in here and cuddle with me,” Eames demanded, shoving at Arthur until he could pull the covers back. “The floor is freezing and my feet are like ice.”

“Jesus!” Arthur cried when Eames pulled him close and shoved his bare toes between his calves.

“That’s right, sweetheart, scream it loud so everyone hears you,” he chuckled, wrapping an arm around Arthur’s waist like he did it every night. Arthur switched off the lamp and gave in, snuggling into Eames’ embrace like he belonged there.

******

Morning brought a cozy cocoon of warmth and fingers stroking Arthur’s ribs light enough to make him giggle, still half asleep and pushing against the solid body behind him. Eames chuckled, nose pressed behind Arthur’s ear, his breath sending shivers over Arthur’s skin.

“Good morning,” Eames rumbled, voice thick with sleep.

“Nooo,” Arthur protested, snuggling further into the covers and further into Eames.

“Arthur,” Eames choked out, and oh, Eames’ Christmas spirit was large and in charge this morning.

“Sorry,” Arthur squawked, rolling onto his stomach and away from Eames.

“S’alright, two grown men, we can handle ourselves.”

Arthur snorted, laughing into his pillow until his shoulders were shaking. “Can we, Eames? Can we ‘handle’ ourselves?”

Arthur snuck a peek at Eames, who was giving him a look of mock-disapproval, and started laughing again.

“I usually wait until I’m in the shower if I’m someone’s guest, but if you want to do the handling right here, by all means let’s get to it, I’m starving and I can smell bacon.”

Arthur turned his head to look at him again, jutting out his bottom lip. “Sorry, but I draw the line at bringing strange men home to meet my family and cuddling with them. No dick touching until at least day four.”

“Day four,” Eames repeated, eyebrows high. “I’ll mark my calendar.”

Arthur’s laugh was cut off by the loud rumbling of Eames’ stomach. “Wow, you really are starving.”

“I’m usually up by five for a run. It’s nearly ten so I’m far past my brekkie time.”

“Then as your fake holiday boyfriend, I will feed you,” Arthur declared, pushing himself out of bed.

“In bed?” Eames asked, hopeful.

“No, but I’ll loan you a pair of wool socks for the walk downstairs.”

The trip to the kitchen proved to be ridiculously entertaining because Eames was a menace to himself on hardwood in wool socks.

“Bloody hell!” he shouted, foot sliding out from under him as he descended the last stair.

“You look like you’re on skates,” Arthur said, trying to hide his smile.

“If I fall and break a hip I’m suing you. That’s what Americans do, right? Sue people.”

“Are you even an American citizen?” Arthur asked offering his arm for support.

“Do I need to be to sue you?” Eames grumbled, holding onto Arthur and the wall.

“Come on, almost there.” Arthur guided him through the kitchen door, stopping abruptly and making Eames flail when he found only Holly and Jack at the breakfast table.

“Maybe we should go out for breakfast,” Eames suggested quietly.

“No, join us,” Jack said, standing up. Holly flashed him an incredulous glare, but was smiling by the time she turned to Arthur and Eames.

“There’s still lots of food,” she told them. “I’ll make more coffee.”

Eames raised his eyebrows in question and Arthur nodded. He could do this. He could totally have breakfast with his ex fiance and his groom-stealing cousin. With Eames with him, he felt like he could do anything.

“Did you sleep well?” Jack asked as Arthur deposited Eames in a chair and went to fetch plates. 

“Decent,” Eames told him amicably. “Trying not to lose my toes to frostbite, however.”

Jack smiled. “I was shocked, too, at first. Slept with three pairs of socks on while Arthur threw all the covers off because he was too warm.”

Holly darted a tense look at Arthur, her mouth a thin line. Arthur ignored it and dished Eames up a plate. He set it on the table in front of Eames, squeezing his shoulder before getting his own.

“What is it that you do, Jack? Arthur never mentioned,” Eames asked, spreading marmalade onto his toast.

“Oh?” A look of hurt flashed in Jack’s eyes, but it was gone in an instant. “I work at a candy cane factory. Carol’s Candy Canes?”

“No, you don’t,” Eames said, looking around like he was being pranked.

“He does,” Arthur confirmed, sliding into his chair.

“I was working on the West Coast, but when, well, when Holly and I got together I transferred to the one in Akron.”

“He’s head of Stripe Design now,” Holly told them proudly.

“And what do you do?” Eames asked her.

“I make artisan Christmas wreaths from boughs selected carefully from the trees on the farm,” she said brightly.

Eames started at her expectantly. “And when it’s not Christmas?”

“Huh?” Holly asked, looking between Eames and Arthur.

“Well, people only buy Christmas wreaths at Christmas, right?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Holly said with an unsure laugh.

“Christmas only comes one time a year, correct?”

“Yes,” she said with certainty.

“And you only make wreaths at Christmas.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So what do you do the other eleven months of the year when it’s not Christmas?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you’re asking,” Holly said with a wince, like Eames was the one being confusing.

“Eames, just don’t,” Arthur told him. “It’s easier if you don’t think about it too hard.”

“Okay,” Eames said slowly. “I think I’m going to need some whisky for my coffee, then.”

“Me too,” Arthur, Jack, and Holly all said at once. They laughed and it broke the ice, Arthur rising to get the bottle.

“So are you two heading into town for the scavenger hunt?” Jack asked, making Arthur wonder if he talked this much when they were together. With him, Jack had been on the quiet side and shy around new people, but today he seemed determined to make a friend of Eames. To what end, Arthur had no idea. Although, he thought meanly, with only a few days until the wedding, Jack might be looking for someone else to run away with.

Eames looked to Arthur. “I’m not sure, are we?”

“We have to do that thing,” Arthur told him slowly.

“What thing?” Holly asked.

Arthur cleared his throat. “A thing. Just a thing.”

Holly rolled her eyes. “Why are you always so secretive?”

“I’m secretive?” Arthur sputtered, putting his coffee cup down hard enough the contents sloshed over the edge.

“Even as a kid you kept everything a big secret. You and Treakle, always whispering in corners about something.” She leaned across the table and pointed her fork at Eames. “You know he didn’t even tell people he was leaving when he got into that fancy college on the West Coast? Poor Aunt Winnie didn’t know until he called her from his dorm room at Sandford.”

“Stanford,” Arthur corrected. “And she wouldn’t have let me go if she knew.”

“Of course she wouldn’t,” Holly laughed meanly. “Because you were supposed to stay close, Arthur! You were supposed to be next in line to run the farm.”

“I never wanted that,” Arthur spit. “And everyone knew it.”

“That doesn’t make it okay. Daddy nearly drove down there are dragged you back but Aunty wouldn’t let him. Said you’d made your choice,” Holly said, her voice cracking. “I don’t even know why you’re here. You left us all behind a long time ago.”

“No I di— You know what, never mind. I don’t have to explain my choices to you, of all people,” Arthur sneered.

Eames and Jack exchanged a worried look while Holly stared out the window and Arthur glared at his hands.

“I don’t think we’re going to make it to the scavenger hunt after all,” Eames said delicately and Arthur pushed away from the table, pointedly not stomping out of the kitchen. He stopped in his tracks just past the kitchen door when he came face to face with his mother.

“Mom,” he faltered.

“I’m only going to say this once, Arthur, so please listen. You are my child and I love you. I always want what’s best for you. And that means you will not meddle with this wedding. I don’t care if you’re still sore from losing Jack, or if it’s for petty revenge, you will not ruin Holly and Jack’s special day.”

“Why would I—”

“Arthur,” she said sharply. “You will not interfere. Jack chose Holly and Eames seems like a perfectly nice man. Don’t make anyone miserable just because you’re hurting.”

Arthur opened his mouth, then shut it. There was a sternness in his mother’s face he rarely saw. A weariness he’d never seen, and he wondered if this is what she’d looked like when she found out he’d left. If this wasn’t the first time he’d done this to her. Guilt and shame flooded through him and he had to look away.

“Yes, Mom,” he said, miserable.

His mother sniffed and patted his arm. “Good boy. Now, make sure to take Eames into town and show him around. I think he’d like to see the trees at the market.”

Arthur nodded, fighting back tears and feeling as miserable as he had the day of his wedding.


	9. Small Town Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #bronies #noregrets
> 
> Still sick, let me know if I missed any tags ;-*

Eames didn’t come back upstairs until Arthur was showered and redressed. He was sitting along the window sill, paging through an old farm ledger he found on the shelf. The pages were brittle and the pencil marks faded, but the familiar looping scrawl of his grandfather’s hand soothed him. Some of the entries were decorated with waxed crayon marks, no doubt left behind by his mother or one of her brothers when they were small.

“You’re like a picture,” Eames said softly, framing Arthur and the circular window with his fingers from across the room.

“A study in disappointment,” Arthur said, setting the ledger down. “We should head into town before everyone gets back.”

Eames sighed. “Arthur, I know this visit is hard for you, and I still can’t believe you’re putting yourself through this—”

“But?” Arthur interrupted. “But they fell in love and I should be happy for them? But I should just move on? But I shouldn’t be so hard on them?”

“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself,” Eames told him, crossing the room until he was standing in front of Arthur. “So they fell in love, fine. That’s no excuse for the terrible way they handled it. It was selfish and hurtful and you have every reason to hate them. But you don’t. Instead, you’re here.  _ For their wedding _ . Arthur, you’re the most forgiving person I’ve ever met.”

“But I’m still bitter,” Arthur pouted.

“Of course you are!” Eames laughed. “Who wouldn’t be? But you're still here! Because your family asked it of you.”

“Family comes first,” Arthur said lamely.

Eames shook his head. “Not for everyone. I don’t think I could do what you’re doing.”

Arthur slumped, feeling defeated. “Maybe if they’d apologized. Even once. Or at least explained at all. Then I could at least fake being polite.”

“Oh, darling,” Eames said, pulling Arthur into a hug. He was strong and warm and Arthur let himself enjoy it, wrapping his arms around Eames’ waist and breathing in his still sleep-musky scent. “Did you ever know that you’re my hero?” Eames sang quietly, voice breaking in a chuckle before the last word.

“You’re an ass,” Arthur told him, shoving him away gently. “But thanks.”

Eames shrugged, giving Arthur a lopsided smile. “That’s what I’m here for, right?”

“Right,” Artur agreed, sobering. That’s why Eames was here.

*******

The town of Gingerbread, Ohio was bustling. Like always, it seemed like all industry stopped unless it’s focus was on Christmas, and there were people everywhere, enjoying the market and festivities. 

“How is this place real?” Eames asked in awe as he climbed out of the car.

“Local legend says it exists in a snowglobe that sits on the mantle in Santa’s workshop,” Arthur said, pulling on his gloves.

“Really?” Eames asked, eyes wide.

Arthur scoffed. “No, of course not. It’s just a town, Eames.”

“It’s a good thing you’re gorgeous, darling, because you’re a right arse.”

“I think you like my  _ arse _ ,” Arthur smirked. “I’ve seen you looking.”

Eames laughed. “I’m not even ashamed, it’s a great view.”

Arthur offered his hand, biting his lip to stop from smiling like an idiot. Being with Eames was so effortless, it was easy to forget that it wasn’t real. He needed to keep his head in the game if they were going to survive the holiday together.

“You’re not so bad yourself, you know,” he said.

Eames’ nudged Arthur’s shoulder and took his hand. “A glowing review.”

They made their way toward the town square, where the Christmas Market and Festive Tree Festival were set up. There were all kinds of holiday goods for sale, from candles and soap to knitwear and decorations. They passed a tent selling ornaments made from all manner of items, like pinecones and vintage salt shakers. Eames poked around a bit, releasing little hums and whistles when he found something charming or just plain odd, and Arthur watched, hopelessly entertained by seeing it all through his eyes. 

“These are Holly’s wreaths,” Arthur told him when they came upon her tent. They really were beautiful wreaths, and Arthur knew she sold out every year. “I suppose she’s too busy with wedding stuff to man the table herself.”

“Arthur? Arthur Baum?” a man at the next table called out, looking astonished. He was wearing a green camo jacket and brown fedora embroidered with what looked vaguely like some sort of horse, in rainbow thread.

“Yes?” Arthur smiled politely, taking in the table laden with festive dog outfits in an attempt to place him. His family being so well known meant a lot of people felt like they knew you when you had no idea who they were.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you’re back!” the man laughed, the sound high and braying, and that’s when Arthur realized who he was.

“Devon?” he asked, incredulous.

“Wow, I didn’t think we’d ever see you again,” Devon said, coming out from behind the table. Arthur took a step back, colliding with Eames, who steadied him with a hand on his shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

“Ah, Holly’s wedding?” he answered, forcing a smile onto his face. Not only did teenage Devon remind him of abject humiliation, but fully-grown Devon made him plumb uncomfortable. He stood just a little too close, eyes taking in Arthur again and again.

Devon laughed obnoxiously, his breath smelling of candy canes and cigarettes. “You always did have big, hairy balls, Artie!”

Arthur winced. Everything Devon said was shouted, drawing the attention of the people around them, many of whom, he did know.

“This is my boyfriend, Eames,” Arthur said, drawing Eames between them as a distraction. That was his reason for the season, after all, Arthur thought sourly.

“Good to meet you,” Devon said, shoving his hand into Eames’ for a shake. “Still gay then, hey? Thought for sure you’d get over that. You know my cousin Daisy’s a lesbian now? Married to a lady plumber over in Coshocton.”

Arthur blanched.

“What’s that on your hat?” Eames asked, interrupting Devon’s rambling and squinting at the fedora as if it had offended him.

“Rainbow Dash!” Devon told him enthusiastically, taking the hat off and running his hands over the thread with reverence. Arthur was startled to see that Devon had gone bald in the ten years since high school and opted for what had to be some of the worst hair plugs Arthur had ever seen. 

Eames stared at him. “The My Little Pony character?”

“Yep!” Devon said, smiling wide and turning to show them the emblem on the back of his jacket; a white cloud sitting atop a rainbow lightning bolt. “Proud member of the Brony Army!”

Eames frowned, opening his mouth to no doubt ask questions that would have them stuck with Devon for longer than Arthur was willing to give him.

“How nice for you. Look, Devon, it was nice to see you again, great, really, but we have to get going,” he said quickly, taking the hat from Eames and shoving it towards Devon’s hands.

“Oh, of course! Gotta get back to my wares,” Devon said cheerfully, thumbing at his table.

“Great, bye!” Arthur pulled Eames away by the arm, not stopping until they were all the way across the square and hidden by some of the decorated pines that framed the space.

“Ponies?” Eames asked, wonderingly.

“Yeah, it’s a thing, just forget it,” Arthur patted him on the arm and looked around for the gingerbread competition sign up. “And never Google it.”

“I’m going to trust you on that. Hey, why is your last name on that gazebo?” Eames asked, easily moving on.

“Because my grandmother built it,” he said with pride. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

Arthur led Eames to the large wooden structure that sat just outside the square. It was a raised, open octagon with a vaulted roof and simple, but elegant woodwork along the edges. He pointed out the plaque at the entrance that read:

_ Built for the town of Gingerbread, Ohio _

_ By _

_ Clementine Frost _

_ June 1996 _

“How old were you when it was built? Did you help?” Eames asked, climbing the stairs.

“Help is a strong word,” Arthur chuckled, sliding a hand over the smooth wood of the railing. “I was five, I think, but she let me hammer penny nails into a board while she did the actual work.”

Eames clutched his heart. “That’s adorable! I can imagine little Arthur, sat on the grass, trying not to smash his fingers and being so happy to help.”

“I was very proud,” Arthur agreed. “There were only a few grandkids then and only tree and I lived at the house. I remember the dedication was the first time we met my cousin Paloma. Her and Holly are the same age but her adoption hadn’t been finalized until the week before. Tree was so upset when my aunt and uncle showed up with a two-year-old and not a baby.”

“Is one of these yours?” Eames asked, pointing at the small handprints that decorated the ceiling.

“Yeah, um,” Arthur tilted his head back, searching. “Those ones,” he pointed at a set of red paint smudges, outlined in blue.

“Your hands were so small,” Eames said, awed.

“Yours were too at one point.”

“Never,” Eames countered, still staring at the prints. “I sprang forth fully grown.”

“I thought Christmas Angels were created from the souls of regular people.”

Eames smiled, his eyes crinkling. “Maybe I’m special.”

“Maybe you are,” Arthur said, watching him. There was something about Eames that put Arthur at ease and made him feel like he didn’t have to pretend to be anything but who he was. It had been a long time since he’d had that luxury. “Look, Eames. I don’t think I’ve said thank you for being here this weekend.”

“Arthur, you don’t—”

“Yes, I do,” he insisted, putting up his hands to stop Eames. “Seriously, this was a crazy idea and I still can’t believe I agreed to it, but I’m, I’m happy you’re here.”

Eames bit his lip and smiled, his eyes warm. He reached for Arthur’s hand, naked fingers threading through Arthur’s gloved ones. “I’m happy I’m here, too.”

There was a moment, just a few seconds, really, where Arthur thought he was about to kiss Eames. It was as though the world faded away and it was just the two of them, breath ghosting in the air while Arthur lost himself in the viridian or Eames’ eyes. He licked his lips, foot slipping forward on the wood floor, shoulders relaxing when Eames’ lips curled into a soft smile. And then he was gasping from the shock of something hitting the back of his head, icy snow cascading down his neck and into his jacket to burn against his skin.

“What the fruitcake?” he shouted, spinning around just in time for another snowball to explode in his face. Arthur stumbled backward into Eames, making a sound that could only be described as ‘angry mama hippopotamus’. Eames at least had the wherewithal to use the gazebo siding as cover, practically falling into Arthur’s lap as they hit the floor.

“Who the harked angel is throwing them?” he demanded, popping up for a quick look only to duck when another snowball was pitched at them.

“Tree lot,” Arthur grumbled, trying to squirm away from the wetness between his skin and his shirt. “They’re coming from the tree lot.”

“The tree lot? Your family’s tree lot? Why?”

Arthur grimaced. “Because some people NEVER GREW UP!” he hollered towards the lot. The response was laughter and a half dozen more throws.

“Is that Tree?” Eames asked, shocked but hazarding another look over the rail. “I thought she liked me!”

Arthur couldn’t help but laugh, curling forward as it bubbled out of him because he’d missed this so much and hadn’t had a clue. “She does.”

“Then why?”

Arthur grinned, grabbing hold of Eames’ jacket to pull him close and press a quick, dry kiss to his lips. “She never threw anything at Jack.”

  
Eames’ face went from surprised to smug in record time and he dipped back in, returning Arthur’s kiss with one of his own, softer, longer, and just as nice. “Then let’s  _ snow _ them what we’re made of.


	10. Snowball Express

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Eames get warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter title isn't a Hallmark movie title, but it should be. Heed the tags, please, we're about to start our journey to that Explicit rating. Ends with a bit of angst, but I promised you a happy ending and we will get there.

“Arthurrrrr,” Tree called, taunting him. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

Arthur sneered from his hiding spot at the back of the gazebo. Eames was positioned along the left side, his own arsenal of snowballs ready to be deployed. They’d managed to slip down the steps and away from the tree lot without his sister noticing and after teaching Eames the proper way to build the perfect snowball, Arthur was confident they could take her. Or he did, until Tree decided to play dirty.

“Uncle Arthur?” Avery’s sweet, innocent voice piped out. “Will you play with us?”

Arthur pressed his lips together, knowing they were trying to gauge where he and Eames were. Using the kids was low and he cursed himself for not thinking of it first.

“Uncle Eames?” Avery tried, voice shaking, just a touch. “Don’t you want to play with me?”

Arthur heard a soft thunk against the wood that he figured was Eames’ head. He shuffled backward until he could see Eames. 

“Don’t,” Arthur hissed in warning. 

“Arthur,” Eames mouthed, giving him an imploring look.

“It’s a trap, don’t you dare.”

“I’m weak, darling,” Eames pouted, shifting to his feet. “Save yourself.”

“Eames, no!” Arthur growled, trying and failing to lunge for him. Eames stood and stepped into the clearing, arms held wide in sacrifice. Immediately, he was assaulted with snowballs, the crushed snow and ice hitting him in wet smacks while he grunted and flailed like they were gunshots.

Arthur took his chance and returned fire, striking Avery twice in the shoulder and Elden in the chest before they could turn their efforts to him. Tree popped up from behind a snow wall she’d shamelessly hid behind while her children took the brunt of the attack, and got to work reminding Arthur that while he’d done well in track, she’d been a state champion softball player.

The shots came fast and hard, like she was making up for lost time, while the kids laughed and clamoured all over Eames, who had been transformed into a snow monster by his dramatic takedown. The giggles and happy shrieks were at odds with the painful thumps of Tree’s attack and Arthur was soon on his knees, hands out in supplication.

“I give up, I give up!” he choked out, snow melting in his mouth as he stumbled to his feet. “You win!”

Tree grinned. “Oh, I’m not playing for me, Arthur. I’m playing for him.” Tree’s eyes slid past him and Arthur turned slowly, mouth dropping open as his cousin Jasper stepped out from behind the gazebo with a homemade snowball machine gun.

“Welcome home, Scrooge,” Jasper said with a thousand watt smile and unloaded the gun at him.

********

“You’re limping,” Eames pointed out, coming around the front of the car.

“Coal hugger hit me in the balls three times,” Arthur ground out, still panting.

“Oh darling,” Eames said, trying not to smile. “I think you’ve quite cured me of my desire for a large family.”

“Good, because I probably can’t have kids now.”

Eames laughed and wrapped his arm around Arthur’s waist, taking some of his weight. The front steps needed salting and Arthur made a mental note to get to them just as soon as he could stand upright again.

“Have your family always been so bloodthirsty?” Eames asked, slipping behind him on the narrow attic stairs.

“It gets boring living on a Christmas tree farm; you do what you can to entertain yourselves. To be fair, Tree was always on my team when we were kids. I’m not used to losing.”

Eames gasped playfully, leaning into him. “You’ll always be a winner to me, darling.”

“So far,” Arthur said, only half joking. He turned to face Eames at the top of the stairs. “I couldn’t have asked for a better partner in crime this week.”

“You already thanked me,” Eames reminded him, smile faltering as Arthur grew serious.

“I’m not thanking you, I’m showing appreciation.”

Eames swallowed, his eyes dropping to Arthur’s lips. “Is there a difference?”

Arthur hummed, stepping into Eames’ space. “You kissed me.”

“You kissed me first,” Eames said, a little breathless.

“We got interrupted; I didn’t want to forget to do it later.”

“And now that it’s later?”

Arthur let out a slow breath, curling his hands over Eames’ hips. “I want to do it again.”

Eames barely let him finish before he was kissing him, mouth hot and insistent, like it might be his only chance to do it. Arthur opened his mouth, groaning when Eames licked into it and wrapping his arms over Arthur’s shoulders, pulling him closer.

“God, you’re good at that,” Arthur laughed, arching his neck as Eames mouthed at it.

“You should see me when I’m not soaking wet and nearly freezing,” Eames said, making Arthur realize they were both shivering and it wasn’t all from their touching.

“Shower,” Arthur said, definitive. 

“You should go first,” Eames said, not letting go. “I’ll watch.”

Arthur cupped his face, biting at his ridiculously plush lips. “It’s a big shower, I think we can figure something out.”

Eames shivered and this time Arthur was certain it wasn’t from the cold.

*********

Trading lazy kisses under the spray of hot water was Arthur’s new favourite thing. No, trading lazy kisses with Eames under the spray of hot water was his new favourite thing. He was contemplating dedicating the rest of the year to it when Eames’ hard cock brushed against his hip.

“Ignore it,” Eames told him when Arthur pulled away to look down.

“Hmm, no.” Arthur shook his head. “Don’t wanna do that.”

“But you’re not…” Eames trailed off, eyeing the soft length between Arthur’s legs.

Arthur sighed. “It would take a Christmas miracle. Figging Jasper.”

“I don’t mind waiting,” Eames told him, brushing a hand through Arthur’s wet hair, and the thing was, he meant it. A swell of fondness filled Arthur’s chest and he kissed Eames’ cheek while taking hold of his cock.

“I do.”

The tiled floor of the shower stall wasn’t the most comfortable surface to kneel on, and Arthur’s body protested the movement, but it all faded away as he nuzzled the base of Eames’ cock, the sweet musk of sweat and wet skin driving him to devour Eames whole. He backed Eames up until he was leaning against the wall, steady and supported while Arthur did his best to take him apart.

Water dripped off his balls and Arthur dipped low to catch it on his tongue, suckling the thin skin before taking one, then the other, into his mouth and swirling his tongue across them. Eames whined and a thick drop of precome slid down his length. Arthur watched its slow progression before sliding his finger through it, and releasing Eames’ balls. He sucked the fluid from his finger the salty slick making him groan with desire for more.

He pumped Eames’ cock a few times, coaxing more precome from the tip and sucking it from his fingers, again and again.

“Arthur,” Eames plead, body jerking every time Arthur’s fingers swiped across his slit.

“Jesus Christmas, you’ve got a pretty dick,” Arthur told him, waiting for Eames’ huff of laughter to swallow him down, grinning as the laugh turned into a moan.

Eames was thick and uncut, his cock jutting out in an almost perfectly straight line from his body. He filled Arthur’s mouth wonderfully, just wide enough that Arthur had to make a conscious effort to be mindful of his teeth, and just encouraging enough that Arthur didn’t always have to. 

“Mistletoe fruitcake, your mouth, darling,” Eames said with wonder, hands petting Arthur’s wet hair back over and over. Arthur laughed around him and Eames hissed, gripping him tighter. “I’d be lying if I hadn’t imagined this on the plane,” he confessed.

Arthur pulled off with a pop and a line of saliva, working Eames’ cock with his hand. “ Looking to join the mile high club?”

“Why else would I pay for first class?” Eames asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Too bad that shirt was working against you,” Arthur said, teasing foreskin with his fingertips. “Nothing first class about that thing.”

“Shut up and get back here,” Eames groaned, leading Arthur’s mouth back to him. “And it got your attention, didn’t it?”

Arthur grumbled around him in protest but Eames just laughed. 

“Sorry, darling, can’t hear you while you’re choking down my yule log.”

Arthur pinched his thigh, making him squawk and using the opportunity to take him deeper, bobbing his head faster as Eames’ cock brushed the very back of his soft palate.

“Don’t stop,” Eames gasped, his hands frantically squeezing Arthur wherever he could reach.

Arthur grinned around him, taking in the flushed hue of Eames’ skin and the serious, but unfocused look on his face, and feeling pretty darn smug about putting it there. He slid his hands up Eames’ thighs, the fingers of one hand dipping into the crease of his leg and the other creeping around to his ass, massaging the rounded flesh to spur Eames along. He was hungry for the taste of Eames now that he was this close, and it had him feeling lightheaded.

Eames bucked under his hands, spreading his legs and arching against the wall in encouragement. Arthur’s fingers drifted down the cleft of Eames’ ass, pressing in further at Eames’ unsteady moan. He barely got the chance to circle Eames’ hole before Eames whined high and needy, filling Arthur’s mouth with a flood of come. 

He swallowed the first mouthful, eyes fluttering shut at the hot, almost spicy flavour. It warmed his throat as it went down, already working at the underside of Eames, needing more. He kept the rest on his tongue, heavy and thick, as Eames pulsed and shuddered through the end of his climax. 

With a gasping breath, Eames pulled him to his feet, crushing Arthur to his chest and kissing him fiercely. His tongue pressed through the barrier of Arthur’s lips, groaning when he found his come held there carefully. Arthur opened completely to him pushing the come into Eames’ mouth so he could taste the two of them together. So he would know how amazing they were. Eames swallowed it down and licked back into his mouth, chasing what was left clinging to the roof of Arthur’s mouth, the backs of his teeth. Eames’ tongue was practically down his throat and Arthur could do nothing but take it, his body pilant and soft against Eames.

“Arthur,” Eames panted, his forehead resting of Arthur’s shoulder. 

“Eames,” Arthur answered amicably, not fighting the grin that had taken over his face.

“That was amazing,” Eames grinned back. “Chased the chill right out my bones.”

Arthur huffed a laugh. “Yeah? Happy to be of service.”

Eames groaned and stretched, pushing Arthur back under the water in the process. Arthur’s cock was giving hardness a valiant effort, but he doubted he’d get there. Still, it might be nice to get some attention elsewhere. He opened his mouth to say as much when Eames opened the shower door and stepped out.

“Thanks again, darling,” Eames said with a wink before closing the door. “Best fake boyfriend ever.”

Arthur froze with hurt and humiliation, the warm glow of affection draining instantly from his flushed skin. The water was still hot when Eames left the bathroom, but Arthur felt nothing but cold.


	11. The Ex-Mas List

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur seeks counsel and gets more than he bargains for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. I'm still here. Sick like mush, but buoyed by all your lovely comments. Thank you so much to those who have told me it's okay to not post daily and to take care of myself. I really appreciate it <3<3<3\. I will still try to get one chapter up a day, but there may be some delay. Hey, that rhymed. Okay, back to bed for me. Enjoy the chapter!

Arthur stayed in the shower as long as he could, his hands and feet soft and wrinkled when he finally shut off the water and stumbled out. He felt heavy; waterlogged and angry with himself for losing sight once again of reality. Eames was only here to pretend. And get a little on the side, apparently. Arthur would have gotten his had he been able, he’s sure, but he wasn’t, so Eames felt no guilt in leaving once he was done. And he shouldn’t, Arthur rationalized, because none of it was real.

Eames was asleep on the bed when Arthur reached the top of the stairs, passed out on his stomach, snoring, towel loose around his hips. He dressed quickly and silently with his back to the bed, unable to bare how soft and content Eames looked. He needed to get out fast and get his head on straight. He figured he’d walk around the farm for a bit, visit the trees, like he had with his grandfather when he was young. 

He made it out of the house without being stopped but he didn’t really feel like he could breathe until he was a quarter mile out, any noise from the house or the road stifled by the trees and the snow. He shouldn’t have been surprised at how calm he felt trudging through the snow, reaching out to brush a gloved hand against the odd branch along the way. This was his first home, he thought. The fields and the trees. This was where he learned who he was, where he came from, and what he could be, if he wanted to. His grandfather had been a kind soul, never begrudging Arthur’s dreams of something else, something  _ more _ . Nicholas Frost had understood that the draw of a different path didn’t mean turning his back on the one that had been forged for him. After all, his father had been a lawyer and Nicholas’ chosen profession was just about the furthest he could get from that.

But something happened when his grandfather died. Everyone else conveniently forgot how understanding and forgiving he’d been and the tired refrain of ‘Nicholas wanted this for you’ began its assault on Arthur’s heart and mind. In the end, it had felt like his only two options were to succumb to a life he never wanted, or run and never look back.

But there he was, back again. Pulled there by the same people who drove him out, and he was still pretending to be someone he wasn’t. 

When he reached the bottom of the hill, he smiled to himself because he knew he’d end up here eventually, even if it wasn’t intentional. The farm spread out further behind him as he climbed, stopping to survey the incredible view when he reached the top. It was a winter wonderland, there was no other way to describe it. Pristine and crisp as a photo, the trees were perfectly dotted with white, the rows just crooked enough for them to appear wild and free. He took a deep breath of the frozen air, letting it fill and prick at his lungs before turning to the reason he was here.

“Hi, grandpa.”

*********

The tree didn’t respond. Not that Arthur expected it to; it would have been a Christmas nightmare had the disembodied voice of his grandfather disturbed the quiet of the day. But Nicholas Frost’s ashes were here, buried in the ground alongside the roots of the growing spruce. His grandmother wasn’t here; to visit her he’d have to travel to the Bahamas where she was swirling around in shark-infested water. Maybe he should do that after this awful holiday was over. Eames would look good in the sun.

Arthur shook his head and blew out an uneven breath. Eames. That was why he’d sought his grandfather’s council. He needed to get his head straight about Eames, the truth of their partnership, and what would happen once the week ended. 

“You’d like him,” Arthur said aloud, shaking the snow off the branches. The tree was bright and alive in a way Arthur had never felt. Not before Eames, anyway. 

“I should end this now, before anyone gets hurt. Before I get hurt,” he admitted, finding solace in knowing no one was actually there to hear him.

“But I  _ like _ him. Like, like-like him, grandpa. He’s fun, and gentle, and god, he’s so hot. With Jack I felt like we complimented each other. We were a kind of matched set. A little too picture perfect, maybe. But Eames is something else. He's quick and sure, and he always seems to be looking for what I need.” Arthur blinked away a tear, hastily wiping his eyes with his glove.  He was getting sentimental and that wasn’t going to help him figure anything out. Eames had called him a romantic and he was right; Arthur wanted so much more romance than he dared ask for from life. Eames didn’t seem to have trouble offering without Arthur voicing his desire. The soft brushes of fingers and lips when Arthur withdrew, the firm strokes and hugs when he needed support. Eames read him well and Arthur was loathe to give that up.

“I want to keep him,” Arthur told the tree, clenching his fists. “But I can’t. He clearly doesn’t feel the same way about me. He’s great at pretending,” Arthur scoffed. “But it’s not real. For him this is all some grand adventure; a story to tell. God, this was so stupid. What kind of a person lies about having a boyfriend? How pathetic am I to have brought one home?” Arthur choked out a laugh, tears freezing on his cheeks. “I can’t do this anymore, grandpa. I’m going to send him away and tell the truth. And if the family wants me to leave, too, I will. I guess I should say goodbye to you again. I don’t think I’ll be able to face them after this. I won’t deserve to.”

Arthur smiled at the tree, trailing his hand over the young branches. “Thanks for listening.”

***********

Arthur was on his way back to the house when Jack stepped out from a cluster of trees.

“Hi,” Jack said, raising his hand in an awkward wave.

Arthur clenched his jaw, the peace he’d felt after his walk fading. “I don’t think you’re allowed to talk to me.” He walked around Jack and continued toward the house.

“Probably not, but I want to anyway.”

“Why? What could you possibly have to say to me after six months of silence?” Arthur demanded, coming to a stop and turning to face him. “Six months, Jack. And not one word about why you left me at the altar in front of everyone we know. For my nickle-fifing cousin!”

“Arthur, I know—”

“Do you? Do you know how humiliating that was, Jack? How much it  _ hurt _ ?” Arthur spit.

“I’m sorry,” Jack pled.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Oh, well, all’s forgiven then. I don’t care if you’re sorry, Jack. I really don’t.”

Jack stepped forward, blocking Arthur’s path. “Look, I can’t explain to you how it happened, it just did. I should have told you before the wedding, I know that, okay? But I was so confused. I’d never felt anything for a woman before, you know that. And Holly caught me off guard, and she was just so, so…” he trailed off, eyes going soppy.

“Spare me your gushing,” Arthur told him. “We made a promise to each other, Jack. If you didn’t want to marry me, you should have told me.”

“I didn’t know,” Jack said deflating. “Until I was standing up there with you, I didn’t know I wasn’t in love with you.”

A pain lances through Arthur and he has to bite his cheek to keep from reacting because he doesn’t want an answer, but there’s a question he has to ask.

“Would you have married me if Holly hadn’t come to the church?”

Jack’s eyes tell him the answer before his lips do. “Yes.”

“And what, carried on an affair with her behind my back?”

“That ship had already sailed and I know you know that,” Jack said with regret. “I was going to tell you after the wedding. I didn’t want to ruin it for you.”

Arthur wanted to punch him in his stupid, perfect face. “You’re a coward, Jack.”

“I know,” Jack admitted, voice thick.

Arthur took a deep breath, realizing something. “I’m really happy I didn’t marry you.”

Jack gave him a weak smile. “Good.”

Arthur stared at him, wondering how he ever though Jack was the man for him. That they’d last until the end.

“Look, I’m here because my mother asked me to be, okay? You don’t get to ask anything else from me.”

“I know, and I wouldn’t. I honestly just wanted to tell you that I’m happy for you.”

Arthur laughed in shock. “Excuse me?”

“Eames,” Jack explained earnestly, turning Arthur’s mood even more sour. “He’s great, and he seems really good for you, Arthur. I’ve never seen you look so calm. So settled.”

“Are you kidding me right now?” Arthur asked, because what?

“As calm as possible with all the drama,” Jack said with a small laugh. “I’m serious, though, he’s obviously in love with you. It shows in the way he looks at you. Like you’re the only person in the room. In the world, to him.”

“You should stop talking right now,” Arthur said, feeling like the bottom of his stomach was dropping out. 

“Arthur, I’m not trying to upset you.”

“Well you are,” he snapped, forcing his way past Jack. “Stay the fig away from Eames and stay away from me.”

“Arthur! Arthur, I’m sorry!” Jack called after him, but it barely registered because all Arthur could hear was the rush of his own blood in his head.

He laughed, unhinged at the thought of Eames being in love with him. Of others seeing it if Arthur couldn’t. Of Arthur ever being that lucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, fair readers, the next chapter is so sweet it'll rot your teeth!


	12. The Christmas Cottage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sugar shock. Pure sugar shock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter I have pre-written, so there may be no posting tomorrow. I'm sorry! I am feeling better, but mostly sleeping all day still. Thanks to everyone for your support and understanding.

The house was buzzing with activity when Arthur returned, stomping the snow off his boots at the bottom of the newly salted stairs and sneezing forcefully at the wave of cinnamon that assaulted him in the foyer. 

Christmas music was playing loud enough that no one heard his arrival and he wasn’t quite up for facing Eames, but giggling drew him to the dining room, where he found two dark and one light head bent together over a spread of paper, stamps, stickers, glue, and of course, glitter. 

Eames whispered something and the twins collapsed in peals of laughter, the sweet sound bringing a smile to Arthur’s lips even as it made his heart ache. He must have made a noise because Eames’ head came up and there was a flash of something like relief on his face before a wide smile took its place.

“There you are,” Eames said warmly. 

“Just needed some air,” Arthur explained primly, not wanting to get into it in front of the twins.

“For two hours?” Eames questioned, voice a little sharp.

“There was someone I needed to talk to. You were asleep and I didn’t want to disturb you.”

Eames nodded, mouth a tight moue. “I like it when you disturb me,” he added, waggling his eyebrows and just like that, he was back to the perfect fake boyfriend.

“What have you gotten up to here?” Arthur asked, leaning over Elden’s shoulder.

“Eames is teaching us how to make wrapping paper!” the boy shouted in Arthur’s ear.

Wincing, Arthur drew back. “That sounds messy.”

“Oh, it is,” Avery told him with a mischievous smile. “There’s going to be glitter _ everywhere _ !”

“Join us, darling. I was going to make some for your present, but I may have to keep that one from innocent eyes,” Eames said, winking.

“Ewww,” Berry said, coming into the room with a cup of pudding. “Candy’s looking for you. She’s on the warpath.”

“Joy of joys,” Arthur muttered, grabbing a blank sheet of brown paper. He would talk to Eames as soon as they were alone; no sense interrupting the kids’ fun. “You going to make any?”

Berry’s nose wrinkled. “I’m an anti-capitalist, you’ll all be getting strongly worded letters from me as gifts.”

Arthur chuckled, picking out a snowflake stamp. “I look forward to reading it.”

He’d barely gotten half the paper stamped when Candy’s shrill voice rang out from the front of the house.

“Arthur!” she screamed. “I know you’re here!”

Arthur swore under his breath and Berry slipped out of the room, heading in the opposite direction Candy’s voice was coming from.

“There you are!” Candy spat, like it was an accusation.

“Oh, were you looking for me?” he asked innocently, turning in his seat to face her.

Eames chuckled and Candy shot him a glare.

“What is this?” she demanded, thrusting the gingerbread competition sign-up sheet in his face.

Arthur squinted at the page. “I think it’s Doug Shephardson’s name and phone number, but if you’re wondering why it’s misspelled, well, his parents were first cousins, you know.”

“Why is your name on this?” she hissed.

“Oh, I know this one!” Eames piped up. “Because we entered.”

Candy took a deep breath, seeming to have noticed the terrified looks the twins were giving her. “I can see that.  _ Why _ did you enter?”

“We’re gay, it’s practically illegal for us not to enter a holiday baking competition,” Eames told her seriously.

“Because we wanted to,” Arthur added, drawing her attention. “There’s nothing in the rules that say we can’t.”

Candy pinned him with a narrow look. “And the fact that the winning display will be used as a centrepiece on Holly and Jack’s table at the wedding reception didn’t factor into it at all?”

Arthur froze. “I… was not actually aware of that. So no, it did not.”

Candy scoffed. “You expect me to believe that?”

“I understand why you wouldn’t, but yes.”

“Worried we’ll win?” Eames asked sweetly, resting his chin on his fist. 

“Of course not!” Candy laughed. “I’ve seen the result of Scrooge in the kitchen.”

“Then what’s the problem?” 

Candy sputtered. “The other entries will be displayed on the guest’s tables. I don’t want you to embarrass us.”

Eames rolled his eyes in anger while Arthur fought off a wave of shame. “Tell you what, Aunty, if we don’t win, you can smash our entry.”

“What?” Eames cried.

“I’m serious,” Arthur told him. “I have no intention of causing a scene, or whatever else you think my motivations are for being here. If Holly and Jack aren’t comfortable using our gingerbread at the reception, you can destroy it.”

Candy gaped. “Oh, well—” 

“But,” Arthur clarified sharply. “If we win, it goes on the head table. If it’s not good, it won’t win and you won’t have to worry.”

Candy studied him before nodding. “Fine.”

“Good.” Arthur turned back to the table.

“But you’re not baking in the house,” she added, making Arthur’s hands clench the paper in front of him. “There isn’t enough room for both our entries and I won’t chance you breaking anything. Accidentally,” she added after a pause. “You can bake in the cottage.”

“Fine,” Arthur bit out, stamping the paper aggressively.

“That was scary,” Avery whispered once Candy was gone.

“That was family,” Arthur told her, then sighed. “It’s okay, I promise. Sometimes family argues, but it doesn’t mean we don’t love each other.”

The look Eames sent him said he was clearly questioning that. “Are you really going to let her smash our entry if we don’t win?”

Arthur grinned at him, sharp and eager. “Oh, we’re going to win.”

**************

“No,” Eames said, climbing off the ATV and removing his helmet. “This isn’t real. Arthur, this can’t be real.”

Arthur chuckled and hooked his helmet onto the handlebar of his ski-doo. “It’s real.”

“How? Why? How, Arthur?!?” he sputtered, looking delighted and awed. He gestured at the cottage in front of them. 

“It was the only house on the property when my grandparents bought it. They lived here for almost fifteen years before they had enough to break ground on the big house,” he told him, gazing up at the old cottage with nostalgia. “My mother grew up in this house.”

“This,” Eames said, gesturing emphatically. “Is not a house.  _ This _ , is a sugar-sucking candy cottage!”

Arthur laughed. 

“Are we going to be eaten by a witch if we go in? Where are Hansel and Gretel buried?”

“I guess it is kind of surprising if you’re not expecting it,” he admitted, removing the bungee cords securing the box of supplies to the back of the ATV.

“Kind of surprising,” Eames muttered. “ _ Kind of surprising _ .”

“Here, open the door,” Arthur said, tossing Eames the keys. 

Eames caught them in one gloved hand, giving Arthur a sardonic look when he saw the candy cane keychain. 

Arthur packed in the supplies while Eames walked around the first floor, muttering under his breath at the details of the decor.

“Okay, why? Why does your family have a candy cottage hidden in a forest of Christmas Trees? Because I’m starting to think you’re all keeping some big ‘we’re actually Santas’ secret.”

“We’re not Santas,” Arthur assured him, turning on the heat. “When the new house was built, my grandmother didn’t want to just abandon this one so she turned it into a themed cottage. We used to rent it out, but as the family extended we just kept it for visiting relatives. The road comes in from the back of the property, which is why we came the way we did. I should probably volunteer to plow and grate the drive,” he mused.

“Plow and grate the road. Candy themed cottage,” Eames said, staring at Arthur. 

Arthur shrugged. “Now you see why I never brought anyone home. My family is weird.”

“They’re not weird,” Eames defended. “They’re a little extra, especially in the Christmas department, but they’re just like other families. A little mad, but overall decent. Ish. The cottage could throw people off, though, I can see that.”

Arthur smirked, but it didn’t last. He and Eames needed to talk and it needed to happen now. 

“Can I go upstairs? Eames asked, looking up the staircase to the second floor.

“In a minute,” Arthur told him, pulling out a stool from the counter. It was a green and white, dramatically sculpted to look like it was made from ribbon candy. “Can I talk to you about something?”

“Am I in trouble?” Eames asked warily as he sat down.

“No, no, you haven’t done anything wrong,” Arthur assured him. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and tried not to see the worry on Eames’ face. “I just wanted to give you an out. This week has gotten a lot more complicated than I thought it was going to be, and I can’t ask you to go through this anymore. I can tell my family we fought over the gingerbread design or something, and you can slip out quietly. They’ll be angry with me, not you, so don’t worry about that.”

Eames frowned, his cheeks still red from the cold. When he didn’t say anything, Arthur plowed on.

“ I mean, we’re in a bake-off with my Aunty for crinkle sake! You didn’t sign up for this.”

“What kind of man do you think I am, Arthur?” Eames asked him, the serious and quiet of his voice setting off alarm bells in Arthur’s head.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he blurted, wincing at repeating Jack’s words to him. “I just don’t want you to feel like you’re trapped here if you want to leave.”

“I don’t want to leave.”

“Okay, good, fine,” Arthur nodded.

“If I wanted to leave I’d be gone,” Eames told him.

“Right.”

“But I told you I would help you through this and I meant it. Your family is normal, Arthur, but it doesn’t mean they’re not difficult occasionally and I have no intention of leaving you alone to face them.”

“I um, I appreciate that, I really do, it’s just—”

“If this is about what happened in the shower, we don’t have to—” 

“No, no! It’s not about that, not really,” Arthur assured him, flushing. “I mean, we totally don’t have to do… that again. But. It was, it was. Nice.”

“Nice?” Eames asked, looking as though he’d tasted something sour. “Arthur, I understand you’ve never experienced your mouth on your own cock, but if no one has ever told you how bloody phenomenal it is, I’m going to need names and numbers.”

Arthur choked out an embarrassed laugh. “You’re good, don’t worry. I, ah, have been praised before.”

“Good,” Eames said definitively as Arthur bit back a smile. “If it’s about reciprocation, you said—”

“I know what I said,” he assured Eames, deciding to just be honest. “And, and that’s fine. I little abrupt on the exit maybe, but fine.”

“Darling,” Eames breathed, looking shocked. “I’ve offended you.”

“No!” 

“Yes, I have, I can see it in your eyes,” Eames insisted, taking Arthur by the hand and dragging him through the cottage. “Tell me this shack of sugar shock has a bed in it.”

“Eames,” Arthur laughed, falling up the stairs after him. “You don’t have to.”

Eames stopped to turn and press Arthur against the candy-striped railing. “Arthur, darling. Shut up and let me lick your lollipop.”

Arthur burst out laughing, his hands pulling Eames into a kiss. It might not be real, he reasoned, but Arthur figured he was due for a little fantasy in his life.


	13. This Magic Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sex, baking, and hard truths. Laissez les bon temps rouler!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is up so late! It's longer than the previous chapters and was written today, so forgive me any mistakes.

“See this,” Arthur stuttered. “This is clear. This is straightforward.”

Eames hummed around him, looking up the bed, eyebrows high as though encouraging Arthur to continue.

Arthur tugged on his hair, just to hear him groan. “This is sex. I like sex.”

Eames snickered and mumbled, making Arthur gasp and thrust upward.

“It feels good so we do it. We do it because it feels good. Know what I mean?” he panted.

Eames pet his thigh gently in agreement.

“Tit for tat,” he rambled, desperate to keep himself from coming too soon because he was good, but Eames’ mouth was  _ a revelation _ .

Eames reached up and squeezed Arthur’s chest, making him giggle, then moan when he hit the back of Eames throat. It was snug and impossible warm and Arthur never wanted to leave.

“We should definitely keep doing this.”

Eames pulled off and sighed against Arthur’s hip, blinking up at him. “Do we need to talk about this a little more before it happens?”

“No,” Arthur assured him, smoothing Eames’ hair down where his tugging had made it stick straight up. “It’s happening, it’s good.  _ So good _ .”

Eames snickered. “Are you sure? Because it sounds like you’re trying to convince one of us, and if it’s me, let me assure you, I’m more than willing.”

Arthur tried not to look too fond. “I’ll be quiet.”

Eames grumbled and crawled up his body, kissing him soundly. “That’s not what I said.”

Arthur grinned and slipped his hands into Eames’ pants, popping the button and shoving them and his underwear down below his ass. “How are you at multitasking?”

Eames ground his cock against Arthur’s in response, sending delicious shivers of pleasure through him. Arthur laced his fingers across the nape of Eames’ neck and rolled his hips, urging him to keep going. Eames moaned, his breath hot and heavy on Arthur’s skin, changing the dynamic between them from a simple exchange of sex to something closer, deeper. 

Arthur could feel Eames react to their bodies movements, from the throb of his cock to the hitch in his breath, sweat and precome the only thing between them, easing the slide. And sure, they were both still clothed, but this time still felt intimate in a way Arthur hadn’t been expecting. Now that he was in it, though, he found himself wanting it to last.

He urged Eames’ mouth back to his, licking inside and swallowing down the sweet, low sounds Eames made, biting his lush bottom lip when a particularly slow grind had him seeing stars.

“Eames,” he whined, nearing the edge.

“Come on, darling,” Eames whispered, and before Arthur could protest, he was moving away, taking Arthur back down in one hot, wet movement, and making him come so hard his back protested at the arch it took on. Eames’ hand worked him through it, pulling back until just the head was between his lips, sucking and sipping until Arthur was a shuddering mess beneath him.

Aftershocks jolted through him as Eames panted over his spent cock, one hand working himself. Arthur tugged on his shoulders and arms, bullying Eames until his knees were spread on either side of Arthur’s hips, his damp head sliding through the circle of his hand as his eyes roamed over Arthur’s face and chest. Arthur grinned at the attention, shoving his sweater up as far as it would go, revealing a willing canvas for Eames to paint with his come.

He gripped Eames’ thighs, fingers digging in behind his knees as Eames’ eyes, burning bright with lust and tension, found his. 

Arthur licked is lips and nodded. “Yeah,” he whispered, almost pleading with Eames to finish. He curved a hand around Eames’, helping him work his cock as Eames’ other hand fell to Arthur’ bicep, keeping him from collapsing as he came in messy spurts all over Arthur’s abdomen and chest.

They stayed like that for what felt like hours, breathing heavy and staring at each other, Arthur’s body, heavy and warm, sated and weighed down my Eames’ mark on him. Eames’ eyes fell to the slippery fluid and he grunted happily, looking ridiculously smug.

“I should be in charge of the icing,” he said, still a little breathless.

Arthur laughed, his body shaking until he could feel Eames’ come slip down his sides. “You are definitely  _ not _ in charge of the icing.” Arthur stretched across the bed for the box of tissues on the nightstand, but Eames’ fingers around his wrist and halted the movement. He smirked at Arthur, something dark and daring in his look as he carefully tugged Arthur’s sweater down over the mess. 

“Leave it,” he said, half demand, half plea, the vulnerability in his tone stealing Arthur’s breath. Arthur nodded and Eames kissed him, chaste, but hard, and if Arthur was a better man he wouldn’t have delighted in the relief he saw in Eames’ eyes before they closed.

***********

Twenty minutes and two very thorough hand washings later, Arthur was measuring ingredients into the churning mixer while Eames drew up his idea for their entry. He sneezed six times in a row before he even opened the cinnamon and Eames chuckled warmly as he took the tin away.

“We could leave it out,” he offered, handing Arthur a paper towel to wipe his nose.

“There’s a tasting element; gingerbread spice cookies without cinnamon won’t win,” Arthur told him with a watery smile. “But thanks.”

“And we have to use this one?” Eames asked, squinting at the handwritten recipe.

“I’ve spent four years perfecting it, so yes. Candy will use the family recipe, so we can’t use that.”

“Right,” Eames agreed, carefully scooping cinnamon into the flour blend. “What do you think of my idea?”

Arthur grinned. “It’s perfect. Candy is going to shit herself when we win.”

They worked like mad for hours, Eames mixing batch after batch of dough while Arthur worked out the blueprints to ensure their structure would stand supported and meet all the competition requirements. He also drew up designs for a few gingerbread people and vehicles to complete the scene.

“You know,” Eames said, turning off the mixer. “I just realized there’s something we can add to really put us over the top with this.”

“What’s that?” Arthur asked, bopping along to the music on the radio. 

“What happens at the end of the movie, Arthur?”

Arthur stilled, looking up at Eames with awe. “Yes, absolutely yes. I’ll check that it’s not against the rules.”

He was double checking the paperwork when there was a knock at the back door and Jasper came stomping into the house in a flurry of snow and cold, one hand held over his eyes.

“Are you decent?” He called, louder than necessary.

“Yes,” Arthur answered, swatting at him when Jasper collided with him and patted him down. “Get off!”

“I’m not covering my eyes because I don’t care,” Paloma said as she closed the door, smiling at them.

“Hey,” Arthur greeted happily, shoving Jasper away, closing his laptop, and turning over all their plans. “You’re here.”

“I was going to say the same about you,” she joked, kissing his cheek.

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged.

“He’s a brave man, our Arthur,” Jasper said, clamping his hands down on Eames’ shoulders. “And he brought backup.”

“Oh yes, I’ve heard all about you,” Paloma said, giving Eames a hug despite the flour all over his stripped and ruffled Christmas apron.

“Then you’ve prepared yourself for how devastatingly charming I am, I’m sure,” Eames said, clearly surprised at the hug. He had reason, Arthur figured, no one else save the kids had welcomed him with such open arms.

“Of course, but I’m not the one you have to impress; we brought Great Aunt Bessie.”

Arthur groaned, dropping his head in his hands.

“She’s a tough cookie, is she?” Eames surmised.

“More like a strip of old boot leather,” Jasper explained. “Hates us all and isn’t quiet about it.”

“I just endured three hours in a car with her while she pointed out all the ways I’m not a proper lady,” Paloma told them.

“It’s a mystery why you left your girlfriend at home,” Jasper joked. “Bringing the boyfriend may have pleased her, though.”

“I doubt it, Trey is on his third facial tattoo.”

Jasper whistled. “I wish I had that kind of commitment to  _ anything _ .”

“Oh my god,” Eames breathed, gleeful. “She’s going to love me in comparison!”

They all laughed, and Arthur shook his head. “She only loves Holly, and she’s still hard on her.”

“God help her and Jack if they don’t pop out a baby within a year,” Jasper said, eyes growing wide once the words were out. “Shit, sorry, Arthur.”

“It’s fine,” he promised. “I’m fine.”

“Well, I have something that might help us all through dinner tonight,” Paloma told them, pulling out a smooth gold cigarette case full of joints. “Smoking on the roof like old times?”

“Bells, yes,” Jasper crowed. “You two coming?”

Arthur looked to Eames, but Eames shook his head. “I want to get a few more batches mixed so we can start baking in the morning, but you go ahead.”

“No, I’ll stay,” Arthur said as Paloma and Jasper slipped past them to the stairs. It was ridiculous and paranoid, but he was nervous to leave Eames on his own for too long, lest someone show up to seduce him away.

Eames grabbed the front of Arthur’s sweater and pulled him close, dropping a kiss to the tip of his nose. “Go, have fun.”

“Yeah?” Arthur asked, trying to fight his blush. Eames had kissed him when there was no reason to and now his stomach was full of butterflies. Maybe he was okay to leave him, just for a bit.

“Just don’t get too trashed you can’t draw straight lines,” he joked, nodding at the hidden blueprints.

Arthur grinned. “No promises,” he said, hurrying to catch up with the others.

“Arthur,” Paloma asked as he entered the master bedroom. She was giving the mussed bedding a calculating stare as Jasper forced open the window. “Did you have sex on Great Grandma Frost’s handmade blankets?”

“Why is everyone so concerned with where I have sex?” he asked, throwing his hands up. “And all our parents were conceived in this house, probably on or under those blankets, so it’s not like I’m the first to defile them.”

“Ew, Arthur, that doesn’t make it better,” she scolded, nose scrunched up.

“Whatever,” Arthur said, pulling the blanket off the bed and wrapping it around himself with a flourish. “I’m not sharing the warmth, then.”

They settled, side by side, on the wide window sill. They took up more room than when they were teens, but huddling for warmth wasn’t anything new after growing up in Ohio. Paloma lit a joint and blew the smoke in Jasper’s face before passing it along, laughing. By the time she lit the second one, Jasper was humming that ridiculous song and Arthur had threatened to push him off the roof if he didn’t stop.

“ _ One bottle of spirits, two hearts frozen in ice, _ ” Jasper crooned, leaning against Arthur. “ _ Chip off the block, I want to be your vice! _ ”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Arthur complained, taking another toke.

“So don’t turn me away!” Paloma shouted, her voice echoing across the yard and disappearing into the trees. “Make this the first day of the rest of our lives!”

“Why do people even write love songs for Christmas? Christmas is the worst time to fall in love,” he declared.

“God, you’re such a hypocrite,” Jasper accused. “You’re the one who brought a new guy home for Christmas.”

“A hot new guy,” Paloma added.

“I brought him for the wedding. It being Christmas is purely coincidental.”

“I still can’t believe you came,” she said, leaning past Jasper to see Arthur. 

Arthur wanted to tell them he wasn’t given a choice, but the pot was working its way through his body and chasing out his need to complain about the unfairness of his life. He pulled the blanket closer around his shoulders and shrugged, feeling like he needed the fabric to keep him from floating away.

“Forest and I tried to find you after the Holly/Jack fiasco,” Paloma continued, passing Jasper the joint. “But by the time we calmed Tree down, you were gone.”

“I thought Tree was going to punch Holly,” Jasper said with a giggle. “I would have let her, but dad whisked her and Jack away as soon as they cleared the front doors of the church.”

Paloma snorted. “And with you gone, the rest of us just stood around, looking like a bunch of misfit toys.”

“I wasn’t going to stick around while everyone told me to get over it,” Arthur told them. “I got enough of that in the emails and phone calls afterward.”

“It wasn’t our family’s best event, I can admit that,” she said. “But I think everyone just wanted you to feel like it was going to be okay.”

“That was the last thing I wanted to hear,” Arthur argued. “I wanted an apology. An explanation, something!”

Jasper nodded. “Yeah, that was Holly and Jack’s cowardice. But the rest of us were there for you, man.”

Arthur scoffed.

“Hey, we’re not the ones who ignored phone calls for six months,” Jasper reminded him.

“I didn’t want to face anyone,” he admitted, taking the last toke and stubbing the roach on the sill. “I was humiliated.”

“Holy Krampus, of course you were,” Paloma laughed, nearly slipping from her seat. “But we could have helped you through it if you’d answered any of our calls.”

“I’m sorry,” he told them, thinking back on the shame he felt with every message left. “I’m honestly surprised Candy didn’t forbid anyone from contacting me.”

Jasper tugged a corner of Arthur’s blanket from his grasp and draped it across his own shoulders. “My mom isn’t in charge of this family, Arthur, plus, she’s too terrified of your mom to do anything too spiteful.”

“She’s scared of  _ my _ mom?” he asked, surprised.

“Sheep, yeah,” Jasper said, Paloma nodding along. “Aunt Winnie read everyone the riot act at the reception. Said if we made this any harder on you she’d have our sashes.”

“And she was looking at Candy throughout the whole speech,” Paloma added.

“Wow. Um, I had no idea— Wait. You had the reception anyway?” Arthur demanded.

Jasper giggled and Paloma grinned. “We were hungry, it was paid for, and there was free booze.”

“Only our family, thought,” Jasper assured him. “Jack’s family was left to fend for themselves.”

“Have you talked to your mom about any of it?” Paloma asked, pulling some of the blanket for herself.

“No,” he admitted reluctantly. “We’ve carefully avoided the topic. The closest we’ve come is her telling me I had to come to the wedding. And then threatening me to stay away from Jack and Holly once I was here.”

“She said that?” Paloma asked.

“Yep, said I wasn’t to interfere. Like I’d try to steal him back or something.”

“That doesn’t sound like her,” Paloma said.

“Those are literally the words she said to me, Lo, I don’t know what else to tell you. My mother’s changed.”

“Nah, she just has a better poker face now,” Jasper told them, blinking slowly. “Has to to run the business. She’s so little and people think she’s a pushover, but she’s not. She’s tough. Arthur,” Jasper whispered gleefully, half laying in Arthur’s lap. “Your mom’s my hero.” 

“My mom doesn’t run the business, your dad does,” Arthur said, dumbly.

Jasper snorted a laugh. “No, he doesn’t. He’s just the big fat face. Aunty Winnie is the brains. And Tree. Man, do Tree and I have plans for this place once we’re in charge.”

“Jasper, what the elf are you talking about?” Arthur asked, shoving him back into a sitting position.

“None of this is a secret,” Paloma told him, frowning. “Your mom is the eldest; she took over when Grandpa died.”

“No, she didn’t. Noel did,” he argued.

Paloma rolled her eyes “Um, no. Winnie did. She’s the head of the farm. She makes the decisions. How do you not know this?”

“Because he ran away,” Jasper said in a loud whisper. “And he never comes home.”

“And that means I don’t deserve to know what’s going on?” he asked, rapidly losing his good, light feeling.

“No offence, Arthur, but have you ever asked?”

The question was loaded, but he knew Paloma wasn’t trying to be cruel. And more than that, she was right. Arthur had left and never looked back. He allowed them to come to him when they could and only reached out when he had something to show off. A degree, a promotion, a fiancee. 

“I’m a shitty person,” he said, finally seeing it.

“Nah, man,” Jasper assured him, patting his cheek with an uncoordinated hand. “You’re just Arthur.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any holiday-themed cuss words you'd like to see in the fic, let me know in the comments and I'll try to find homes for them!


	14. Something, Something, Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very short chapter because I just really needed to post something today. But there's kissing, and angst, and Great Aunt Bessie, so enjoy!

The ride back to the house was quiet, and not just because Arthur was clinging to Eames on the back of the ski-doo as the night whipped around them. Eames had gotten the hang of zipping through the snow and opened up the throttle, getting them back in record time.

“I can’t feel my face,” Eames declared proudly.

Arthur gave him a distracted smile, mind still on the things Jasper and Paloma had said.Had he really gotten his family so wrong? How much of their behaviour had reflected by his own hurt and betrayal?

“Hey,” Eames said, sliding his arms around Arthur’s waist. “We don’t have to go in there.”

Arthur chuckles weakly, charmed that Eames was once again coming to his rescue. “It’s fine.”

Eames frowned. “You say that a lot, you know. But I don’t think you mean it.”

“What else am I supposed to say?”

Eames hummed, swaying them a little. “How about, ‘Eames, I can’t possibly focus on family drama when you’re here to distract me? Also, you’re so handsome it hurts my eyes’?”

“Your fashion sense hurts my eyes,” Arthur mumbled, fighting a smile. 

“Charmer,” Eames told him, ducking his head to kiss Arthur, slow and soft, like he meant it. Like he couldn’t resist. He pulled back to nuzzle at Arthur’s jaw, lips warm on his skin as he whispered. “We have an audience.”

Arthur’s eyes flicked up to the house where several sets of eyes were peeking through the curtains, disappearing quickly when caught. He stepped away from Eames, what little good nature he’d felt, draining away knowing that Eames was just putting on a show. 

“We don’t need to perform for them like that,” he said, walking away. He heard Eames sigh, but he said nothing, just followed Arthur through the back door and into the kitchen. Once there, he went straight for the liquor cabinet, pouring himself a large glass of whisky and swallowing it down. 

“Scrooge, is that you?” Great Aunt Bessie called from the living room in a tone that said she expected him to come to her.

“Snickerdoodle,” Arthur swore, throwing Eames a look and trudging from the room.

“Come sit with me,” Bessie demanded, glaring at him from the couch. Arthur eased down beside her, smiling tightly. 

“Nice to see you, Aunty,” he said.

Bessie snorted. “Don’t lie, Arthur, it’s cheap.”

Arthur blew out a breath.

“Bloody needles,” Eames complained, kicking at the carpet as he came in with another full glass.

“And you,” Bessie said, looking him up and down. “You can’t bring an old woman a glass of gin?”

Eames spun on his heel and went back in the kitchen without a second glance.

“Now, how are you handling this mustardcluck of a wedding?” she asked, startling him.

“Um, I’m fi—” he paused at her sharp, unimpressed look. “I’m struggling,” he admitted.

Bessie tsked. “Of course you are. They should have eloped and saved all of us from this happy family charade.”

“I think they wanted family around them,” Arthur told her, hating that his instinct was still to defend others from Bessie.

“You ask me, they threw away that chance when they ran off at your wedding,” she spat. “Forcing everyone to choose sides is childish.”

“As far as I know, everyone’s coming to the wedding, so I guess I lose again,” he muttered.

“Don’t be stupid,” she chastised, swatting his leg. “You got rid of dead weight that would have held you down.”

Arthur stared at her because that almost sounded like an endorsement and he couldn’t help but mistrust it. 

“Stop being so suspicious,” she said, poking him with a sharp, painted nail. “You know I’m on your side.”

“I do?” Arthur choked out.

“Of course! Holly’s always been a silly little thing, and she deserves a man like Jock,”

“Jack,” Arthur corrected.

“But you were always made of stronger stuff, Scrooge. Nicky saw it, so did Clementine. They knew you were meant for bigger things than this little farm.”

“This is the largest Christmas tree farm in the Midwest,” he protested.

Bessie glared at him. “Stop being obtuse, you know what I mean.”

Eames came back in, carrying a tall, full glass of gin. Bessie grunted in thanks and motioned for him to sit across from them.

“You love Arthur?” she asked bluntly. 

Eames looked at Arthur, panicked. “Um,”

“It’s not a hard question, boy-o. You respect him?”

“Yes,” Eames admitted with confidence.

“And you’re good to him? You make him smile?”

“Y-yes,” Eames answered, eyes flitting to Arthur and back.

“And you don’t want to see him hurt?”

Eames frowned. “No, of course not.”

“And you trust each other?”

“Yes,” they answered in unison, Arthur giving Eames a shy smile.

“That’s love, children,” Bessie declared, draining half her gin.

Before they could argue, a man dressed as Santa stumbled in, grinning and obviously half drunk. “Dinner,” he slurred. “Is served!”


	15. The Santa Incident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter while I play catch-up, sorry! Thank you to everyone who left such lovely comments on the last chapter! I was so worried about how short it was and you were all so supportive. I really appreciate it. 
> 
> With these smaller chapters, the final chapter count will probably go up, but we're okay with that, yeah?

Arthur eyed the kids' table wistfully as he entered. Avery, Elden, Berry, and Forest huddled in the corner of the dining room, the twins giggling over whatever story Forest was telling. Even Berry was smiling, thus was the magic of Forest Frost. Forest wasn’t really a kid anymore at twenty, but he was easygoing, charming, and hilarious. Arthur hadn’t seen him since before the ‘incident’ and Forest jumped up to give Arthur a hug.

“It’s good to see you,” Arthur said, going onto his toes to return the hug. He was a respectable 5’10”, but at 6’7”, Forest hunkered over all of them.

“You, too,” Forest squeezed him tight, picking Arthur up until the tips of his shoes were dragging across the floor.

“Show off,” Arthur complained, squirming out of his grasp and straightening his clothes. His sweater had bunched up, and he prayed no one noticed the flaking come on his stomach. “This is Eames.”

“So I’ve heard,” Forest grinned, shaking Eames’ hand, his white teeth gleaming brightly against his tanned skin. “The replacement.”

“I assure you, I’m completely original,” Eames told him with a wink.

“Thank god,” Forest laughed. “We need new blood around here.”

“Sit down, everyone,” Noel called, coming in with a ham on a tray. “Food is ready.”

“I’ve missed your cooking, Uncle Noel,” Forest told him, rubbing his belly.

“You eat first,” Noel told him good naturedly. 

“You’ll regret that when there’s nothing left for anyone else,” Arthur’s Uncle Klaus muttered.

Noel set the ham on the table and squinted at Forest. “You eat second. I eat first.”

They settled around the long table, fourteen of them including Drunk Santa and Great Aunt Bessie. Arthur somehow ended up between Santa and Holly; Eames across the table with Tree and Klaus next to him. Santa smells like rum and peppermint and Arthur stares mournfully at the kids. His mother is at the head of the table and he thinks back on what Jasper said about her running the farm as she sends him a small smile.

Bessie was at the other end of the table with Noel on her left and Paloma on her right, shaking her near-empty glass at Jasper, who jumped up and disappeared into the kitchen. Jack and Ginger, Klaus’ wife, brought in side dishes, and it was blissfully quiet while everyone filled their plates. Well, as quiet as eighteen people could be while scraping cutlery against dishes and fighting over dinner rolls.

Arthur was only a few bites in when Candy tapped a spoon against her glass and stood. Bessie groaned and Santa ignored her completely, too busy shovelling scalloped potatoes into his mouth to bother.

“I’d like to make a toast,” Candy declared and Arthur braced himself for the worst, Eames raising his eyebrows at him.

“We’ll have enough of those in a few days, won’t we?” Winnie asked tightly, here eyes flicking from Candy to Arthur, clearly as worried as he was.

“I know, I know, but tonight is special, too,” Candy insisted, hushing them all. “I just wanted to say how grateful I am to have the whole family here for my baby’s wedding. I didn’t grow up with cousins and siblings around me and I’m just so happy that my children have. It means a lot that as our own little family units have grown, we’ve still made the effort to come together and celebrate. It may not seem like a big deal when that’s all you’ve known, but to an outsider, it’s wonderful to see.”

Eames smiled at him across the table and Arthur dared to think they may escape the night with no further drama.

“And it shows how important Holly is to you,” Candy gushed and Arthur’s stomach soured. “I mean, Forest didn’t even come to Arthur’s wedding!”

“I was in Ecuador meeting my biological grandmother, Aunty,” Forest reminded her, horrified.

“Whatever,” Candy said with a smile, brushing him off. “I just know this is going to be the best wedding ever and I’m so happy you’re all here to see it! You, too, Eames!” 

Eames looked startled, his mouth opening and closing with no sound coming out.

“No more wine for Mom,” Jasper declared, pointed moving the bottle from in front of her. 

“Enjoy your ribbon for best wedding ever, Holly,” Tree joked. “Because when my next paramour turns out to be secret royalty, my wedding will make yours look like a drive-thru Las Vegas chapel.”

Holly laughed beside Arthur. “I will gladly hand over the title if you marry royalty,” she promised, catching Arthur’s eye and giving him an apologetic smile. It wasn’t nearly enough to make up for everything, but it was more than he’d gotten from her since she stole his groom, so he nodded in thanks.

“You, British person,” Bessie called down the table. “Tell us why you’re good enough for Arthur.”

Eames choked on a bite of ham and turned pink.

“I think what Bessie means,” Winnie said, glaring at Bessie. “Is that we’d like to know more about you. What do you do for a living?”

Eames wiped his mouth and straightened in his chair. “First let me assure you, Bessie, that I believe Arthur deserves far more than I. But he’s chosen me and I strive every day to be worthy of his affection.”

Arthur flushed and stared at his plate, smiling privately while Eames’ foot stroked up his calf.

“As for my living, I consider myself an artiste of sorts,” Eames paused when Noel snorted, giving the man a disdainful look. “I go where I’m needed, creating what is desired, and reaping the reward.”

“Like a freelancer?” Jack asked.

Eames nodded. “Something like that. I have a specific set of skills which are in high demand.”

“Are you an assassin, Eames?” Paloma asked with a sly smile.

Eames laughed, his foot sneaking further up Arthur’s leg.. “Nothing like that, I’m afraid. It’s a bit hard to explain, but I take great pride in my work and I’m quite successful at it.”

“As long as you make Arthur happy and aren’t secretly a Prince, I don’t care what you do,” Tree informed him. “Because if you’re a Prince, I’m sorry, but you have to be my boyfriend, not his.”

Eames put his palm to his heart and bowed his head. “I swear I’m not a Prince.”

“Of a King,” she clarified.

“Or a King.”

“Or a Duke,” Jasper added.

“Or a Lord,” Klaus said.

“Or a Barron,” Paloma giggled.

“Or a Viscount,” Forest chimed in.

“Or a Knight,” Winnie teased.

“I am none of those things,” Eames promised with a laugh. “Simply a pauper, smitten with an angel.”

“Awww,” Tree, Ginger, and Jasper cooed.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I need the loo,” Eames excused himself while the others laughed. Arthur smiled after him, relaxing into his chair until he realized the foot that had been rubbing against him was still there. He looked around him, shocked, but no one paid him any attention. No one but Drunk Santa, that was. 

Santa grinned at him, eyes unfocused and bloodshot. His breath could choke a horse and was hot on Arthur’s face as the man leaned closer. “You wanna sit on my lap?”

Arthur dropped his head in his hands and started to laugh, shoulders shaking as he thought this was the best family dinner he could hope for, all things considered.


	16. Naughty or Nice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur gets some perspective.

After dinner, Arthur excused himself and Eames, telling everyone they had a few things to pick up in town for the gingerbread competition. It wasn’t a total lie, but his real reason for leaving was to get away from the overly friendly Father Christmas who wouldn’t stop hitting on him throughout dinner. 

After stopping at the grocery store and the electronics shop, Eames suggested they take a walk to take in the town’s light display. It sounded indulgent and romantic, so Arthur agreed, allowing Eames to loop their arms and lead them through the square. 

“If you weren’t here, what would you be doing for Christmas?” Eames asked, gazing up at the strings of lights covering city hall.

Arthur shrugged, jostling their arms. “Dinner with friends, Christmas day brunch, that sort of thing.”

Eames eyed him suspiciously. “Tell the truth, darling.”

“What? I have friends, you know. Good friends. Friends who include me in their holidays,” he protested hotly.

“That I believe; what I question is you actually joining them.”

Arthur crumbled under Eames’ knowing look. “Fine, I’d have buried myself in work, hoping I’d forget it was Christmas and I wasn’t here.”

“That’s better,” Eames told him, patting his hand.

“It’s really not,” Arthur muttered. “I’d still be at the office right now. The upside is that if I work, people with families don’t have to.”

“But you do have a family,” Eames pointed out.

“Local family. A lot of my co-workers have kids. They shouldn’t miss out on holidays just because a client changes their mind at the last minute or my boss promises the partners something impossible.”

“You’re the fixer,” Eames says with a smile. “We have more in common than I thought.”

“Is that what you do with your ‘special skills’?” Arthur teased. “You fix problems? Are you sure you’re not an assassin?”

Eames rolled his eyes. “I’m sure. I got nervous after Bessie asked me if I deserve you. I want your family to think we make a good match.”

Arthur huffed. “It’s not you they find lacking, believe me.”

Eames stopped walking, holding tight to Arthur’s arm while he pursed his lips, looking unsure. “Please don’t take this poorly,” he started and Arthur raised his eyebrows, certain this wasn’t something he would enjoy hearing. “But I think you still see your family through the lens of your childhood. Don’t get me wrong,” Eames hurried to amend. “They aren’t all sunshine and rainbows and Candy needs to remove the candy cane from her sphincter and learn some humility, but from what I’ve seen, you, and them,” he emphasized. “Don’t see how you’ve each grown.”

“You mean they treat me like I’m still the teenager who threw their expectations in their faces and ran away,” Arthur said wryly. “That’s not news, Eames.”

“But you’re missing the other side of the equation.”

Arthur shuffled his feet, lightly kicking at the snow to buy himself time.

“You still see them as the people they were when you left. But they’re not, Arthur. They couldn’t be. What happened changed you and your family. You lost them, but they lost you, too.”

Arthur bit at lip, unable to meet Eames’ eyes. “Maybe.”

“Are you mad at me?” Eames asked. Arthur huffed a small laugh and shook his head. “Good. Just maybe think about, yeah? The next time one of them gets defensive. Or you do.”

Arthur finally looked at him, sighing. “Couldn’t just be a pretty face, could you?”

Eames grinned cheekily. “Nope.”

“Seriously, you had one job,” Arthur teased.

“I’m doomed to exceed expectations,” Eames preened. “Now, let’s go get lost amongst the Christmas trees and snog a bit, yeah? My lips are cold and I’m pretty sure the solution to that problem is that lovely neck of yours.”

Arthur laughed and marched them into the display, content with distracting himself from the truths Eames had shown him.

**********

Once Eames had thoroughly warmed himself, and Arthur, and they’d been shooed out of the area by the deputy mayor who also happened to have been Arthur’s high school Principal, they wandered further toward the edge of town so Arthur could show Eames the building that sparked his interested in architecture.

“It’s um,” Eames said, frowning.

“Hideous,” Arthur supplied, laughing. “It’s hideous.”

“Right, yes. Completely. This is what made you want to design buildings?” Eames asked, incredulous.

“One of them, yeah,” he said, laughing again at the look of horror on Eames’ face. It was warranted, he knew, because the house was a travesty. It was like someone had taken everything they liked about other housing styles and fused them together. It had squared red brick pillars guarding a Georgian-style portico and a lime green rolling barn door. The front of the house was Tudor, with half timbering and stucco, but beyond that the steeped roof, the design became that of chrome-plated cubism, representing Deco-style at its worst. Though they couldn’t see it, he also knew the entire back wall of the house was a mosaic of coloured glass and mortar that created a phantasm of light when the sun hit it. “All these different styles and elements,” he explained. “They shouldn’t work. I mean, they don’t aesthetically, but structurally they shouldn’t either. But they do.”

“Do they?” Eames asked, skeptically, tilting his head at the house.

“They do,” Arthur confirmed with a smile. “And I thought if someone could make this work simply because they believed it could, what could I create? It was like they dared this house to exist and it did. I wanted to be that brave. That confident.”

“That’s kind of beautiful,” Eames told him, a small crinkle between his brows. 

“Yeah,” Arthur agreed, taking in all the details of the house that had faded in the decade he’d been away. “Guess I’ve always been a romantic.”

“Knew it,” Eames breathed, knocking Arthur’s shoulder with his own. 

“We should head back,” Arthur said, offering his gloved hand, the house making him brave all over again.

Eames gave him a soft smile and accepted it, linking their fingers and tugging Arthur back in the car's direction. They walked hand in hand through the quiet street, snow falling lightly around them, Arthur feeling vaguely like they’d stepping into a painting or onto the sets of one of those ridiculous holiday romance movies. Unfortunately, the feeling didn’t last long.

“That’s where they’re getting married,” he said, stopping in front of the town hall. His heart didn’t hurt, per se, but it wasn’t exactly dancing a jig.

Eames hummed, standing close.

“I think I’m going to be angry that day,” he confessed. “How can I not be? It’s like wedding PTSD or something. I don’t think I’ll be able to not think about when it was Jack and I standing up there, you know?”

“There’s still time,” Eames said quietly and Arthur let out a strangled laugh.

“Time for what? Time to run away again? To stop the wedding? To get over it? Eames, I don’t even know what I want to happen.”

“Maybe fate will step in,” he said, staring at the darkened hall. “Give you the answer you’re looking for.”

Arthur frowned at him, but Eames was still glaring at the building, face more troubled than Arthur had ever seen it.

“Come on,” he said, tugging on Eames’ hand. “It’s late and I’m cold.”

Eames blinked and his usual grin appeared. “I’ll just have to work extra hard to get you warm again.”

*********

Later that night, after warming up under the hot spray of the shower and the wet pressure of Eames’ mouth, Arthur awoke alone, rolling across the bed and into the cold, vacant space Eames should have occupied. He wondered vaguely where Eames had gone, but before the thought could fully form, Arthur was pulled back into sleep. He didn’t wake again until early in the morning, Eames curled around him tightly and Tree bursting into the room, wide eyed and shaken. A wail rose from the stairwell, making the hair on Arthur’s arms stand on end.

“What is it?” he asked, shocked into consciousness.

“The hall,” Tree exclaimed, panting. “It burned to the ground last night.”


	17. A Real Barn Burner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We don't need no water, let the mitten-froster burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've given up on Hallmark movie titles as chapters because mine are better and Hallmark is a homophobic trash fire.

It was barely five in the morning, but almost everyone was seated around the dining room table, blurry-eyed and miserable. Jasper and Forest had made coffee and dug a variety of cookies from the freezer, but it had helped little and the mood was dark. 

Arthur watched Eames make his way around the room, topping up mugs with Irish Cream to soothe nerves. He was the only one who wasn’t in a state of shock, but Arthur was trying really hard not to think too much about that. It didn’t help that when he did, his stomach swooped dangerously, a dark thrill going through him at the idea that Eames did this for him. 

But that was crazy. Eames wouldn’t burn down a building just because it upset Arthur. Would he? 

The front door openedand they all turned to the doorway, waiting. Noah appeared, ears and nose reddened with cold and grimacing, with Jack trailing behind him.

“Where’s Holly?” Noah asked gruffly.

“We gave her something and made her lay down. She wasn’t doing well,” Ginger explained, holding Candy’s hand. “How’s it look?”

Noah shook his head. “Burned down to the studs. Fire chief says the decorations may have acted as an accelerator.”

“I told Holly that much crepe paper wasn’t a good idea,” Tree muttered.

“How did it start? Do they know?” Winnie asked.

“Not yet,” Jack told them. “It was still too hot to go in when we left. This is a nightmare, what do we do?”

“We can’t postpone the wedding,” Candy choked out, her face streaked with tears. “Holly will lose her mind.”

“We may not have a choice if we don’t have a venue, it’s not like we can have the wedding outside in the snow,” Tree said, folding her arms across her chest.

“What about the church?” Forest suggested.

Winnie shook her head. “Not big enough. Jack’s family is twice the size of ours and most of the town is coming. We need something much bigger to fit everyone.”

“Why did this have to happen now?” Jack asked, lost. “Why not in three days?”

Someone coughed, poorly covering the work ‘karma’, and everyone tensed, eyes sliding to Arthur, who kept his gaze on the ceiling, unwilling to look anything but neutral.

“What about the barn?” Klaus asked, shifting the focus of the room.

“Oh my god, the barn!” Noah crowed. “We can use the barn!”

“The barn needs a lot of work, Noah,” Winnie cautioned.

“And isn’t on our to-do list until this summer,” Tree added. “It’s also not heated.”

“And there’s a hole in the roof,” Jasper mentioned. “And one door is seized.”

“Arthur’s a fancy architect, he can help!” Noah argued, and once again, all eyes were on Arthur.

“Um, what?” he sputtered.

Noah walked over to him. “You know all about buildings, right? You can help get it ready in time.”

“Okay first of all,” he said, backing up a step as Noah came close. “I’m an architect, not a contractor. I design buildings, I don’t build them. It’s not the same thing at all.”

“But—”

Arthur slashed his hand in the air, cutting Noah off. “And the wedding is in two days! No way we can fix everything by then. I’m sorry, but we need to think of something else.”

Noah narrowed his eyes. “I knew you were only here for yourself.”

“That’s enough!” Eames shouted, stepping between them. Noah startled, but didn’t back up so he and Eames were chest to chest, glaring at each other. “You have no right to ask for Arthur’s help after what Jack and Holly did to him. It’s a miracle he’s even here, but he is. Because he loves the lot of you, and despite his own best interest and the pain you’ve all caused him, he came when you called. But he’s not doing this. I won’t allow it.”

Arthur gaped at the back of Eames, pleased, embarrassed, and a little turned on. No one had ever defended him like that. Especially to his family. Once again, Arthur questioned what Eames might do for him.

“Eames is right,” Candy said, voice thick from crying. Arthur stared at her in surprise, barely noticing when Eames’ hand linked with his own. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it without Arthur.”

The surprise fell off his face, anger taking over as he realized what she was about to say. Eames was shaking beside him, but before either of them could speak, Candy continued.

“Arthur has already committed to the gingerbread competition and I can hardly beat him if he doesn’t finish his entry.”

“Seriously?” Tree asked, annoyed.

“Yes, seriously,” Candy snapped. “This family has a reputation in this town and I’m not about to allow it to be tarnished because of this. There are enough of you and you know people in town will help, you don’t need Arthur.”

“But he’s—”

“Oh, for goodness sake, Noah, Almand Bark’s boy is an architect and home for Christmas; get him to help. If you can’t do this without Arthur, you can’t do it at all.”

“Was that a compliment?” Eames whispered in his ear.

“No idea,” he whispered back.

“The Bark boy designs mini-malls, Candy, Arthur designs skyscrapers! We need the best!”

“That was definitely a compliment,” Paloma pointed out from beside them.

“I think I’m in shock,” Arthur told her.

Candy rolled her reddened eyes. “It’s a barn, Noah, he’ll manage.”

“Everyone stop!” Jack called out, impressing Arthur. “Just stop. Jasper, can we get the barn ready in time?”

Jasper shrugged helplessly. “It’ll take a Christmas wedding miracle, but maybe?”

Jack nodded. “Good. Go call this Bark guy and ask if he’ll help. I know it’s early, but we’re desperate.”

“They’ll understand,” Jasper told him, disappearing into the kitchen to call.

“Tree, can you make a list of what you think needs to be fixed? That way we can get supplies as soon as the hardware store opens. Winnie, decorations?” he slumped.

“Christmas decorations make beautiful wedding decor,” Winnie told him with a smile. “Leave it to me and Ginger.”

The room emptied out as people were assigned tasks, but Arthur stayed to clear the table of dishes left behind. From the corner of his eye he saw his mother approach Eames. She took his hands in hers and Eames chucked, embracing her. Arthur turned away before they caught him watching, dying to know what his mother had said. Her small hand touched his arm, drawing his attention, and she cupped his cheek with a smile.

“I’m so happy you’ve come home,” she told him, eyes wet, then hugged him tightly. Arthur was helpless to hug back with his hands full of mugs, but he leaned into her, accepting the warmth and love she was showing him. It had been a long time since they’d hugged and it he hadn’t realized how much he needed it.

“Me, too,” he said into the top of her hair, his voice coming out strained. 

Winnie sniffed and released him, smiling. “You’re a good boy, Arthur, but do me a favour?”

Arthur nodded, wary, remembering his last conversation with his mother. 

“The gingerbread competition?” she said, waiting for Arthur to nod. “Kick Candy’s ass.”


	18. We Found Love in a Hallmark Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur bakes. A lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I didn't get this posted earlier! I'm travelling tomorrow, but I will try and get a chapter written. Next up: The Gingerbread Competition! Will Arthur and Eames win? Will Candy choke to death on her spite? Who knows*?!?! 
> 
> *Me. I know.

Arthur spent the rest of the day in the cottage, baking a never-ending line of gingerbread pieces and pointedly not asking Eames if he burned down the town hall for him. Because if Eames had done it Arthur would have to turn him in. Because arson was not sexy. And so what if he’d wait until after he came hard down Eames’ chimney before he called the police? He could condone an act and still appreciate the sentiment, right?

Eames seemed to have completely forgotten the drama of the morning and was dancing in place while setting up the electric component of their entry. Arthur’s holiday nightmare was playing on the radio again and he’d given up changing the station when it did because it played on every one of them at some point. Whoever wrote it was at least making a killing on royalties, he thought, even if they’d written the most annoying holiday song in existence.

“Don’t you love this song?” Eames asked, grinning. He mouthed the words as Arthur stared at him flatly.

“I hate this song with every fibre of my being,” Arthur said, tossing down the oven mitts he’d been holding.

Eames face shuttered so fast Arthur stepped forward with worry.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” he tried, wrapping his fingers around Eames’ bicep.

“No, it’s fine. You’re entitled to your opinion,” Eames told him, pulling his arm from Arthur’s grasp.

“Eames, what did I do? Seriously, it’s just a song.”

Eames turned back to him, mouth tight and eyes sad. “It’s not just a song, Arthur, it’s my song!”

Arthur’s mouth went dry. “As in, you really love it and consider it part of your life?”

“No, as in, it’s my song. I wrote it,” he sobbed.

Arthur closed his eyes and swore under his breath. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“Of course not,” Eames said, flippant. “Knowing things about me would require asking about me and that’s not something you really do, is it?”

Arthur sputtered, drooling a little down his chin in his shock. “Eames, I, I um. God. I don’t have—”

Eames’ laughter interrupted his blubbering. “Oh darling, your face!”

“Huh?”

Eames held Arthur’s head between his palms, shaking him gently. “I’m having you on, Arthur. I didn’t write the song. I only pretend to like it because you so obviously loathe it.”

“Oh,” Arthur said, dumbly.

“I thought you needed a laugh, but I clearly went about it the wrong way, I’m sorry.”

“No!” Arthur shook his head, moving Eames’ hand along with it. “I should apologize. Because I _haven’t_ asked about you. Like, at all. And that’s, that’s not fair. You’re doing me this huge favour and I don’t even know your first name!”

Eames’ mouth twitched, and he pressed a quick kiss to Arthur’s nose. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Yes I would,” Arthur argued, frowning.

“No, you wouldn’t. But that’s fine because I’m not telling you, anyway. It’s terrible and I reserve the right to hide it from the world. But if there’s anything else you’d like to know, ask away.”

So Arthur did. Once he started it was hard to stop because Eames’ life turned out to be one insane adventure after the other. From growing up in an actual tree house in the woods of South East England, to travelling the world on a boat as the valet of an eccentric billionaire. Arthur didn’t even know people had valets anymore, or that one was required on a sailboat in the middle of the Indian Ocean.

“You did not challenge the Crown Prince of Florin to a duel!” Arthur laughed, switching out cookie sheets. He’d finished the competition pieces and was now working on the tasting element.

“His treatment of that poor woman was unbearable!” Eames insisted, sneaking more cookie batter from the bowl. “I couldn’t just stand there and allow the wedding to go ahead.”

“So you’re a pro at disrupting weddings, huh?” Arthur asked, leaning on the counter. “How would you say Jack and Holly did at mine?”

Eames grew still with mock seriousness. “Well, not having attended, I can only judge by what I’ve heard.”

“Of course,” Arthur agreed.

“They get major points for timing. I mean, bursting in as the priest calls for objections? Classic.”

“Yeah, it was reallycharming,” Arthur muttered.

“But they lack originality. I mean, throwing over a gorgeous man for his cookie-cutter cousin?” Eames tilted his head and pouted. “Disappointing.”

Arthur chuckled. “You really think Holly is a cookie-cutter?”

“Blonde hair and blue eyes?” Eames scoffed. “Over. Rated.”

“Hmm, I suppose you prefer redheads,” Arthur teased, sliding closer.

“I have been known to play with fire from time to time, but I prefer tall, dark, and handsome, if I’m being honest,” Eames licked his lips, gaze hot on Arthur.

Arthur’s breath caught at the mention of Eames playing with fire, escaping in a stilted puff as he finished speaking. He really should find out one way or another if Eames was responsible for the fire, but his bottom lip was plush and wet, and all Arthur could manage was capturing it between his teeth and tugging.

“You guys are never going to finish your entry if you don’t stop humping all over the place,” Paloma told them from the doorway.

“Oi! No plebs allowed!” Eames bellowed, pulling away.

She shrugged and swiped a cookie from the counter. “I knocked like, three whole times and no one answered.”

“That’s for the display!” Arthur scolded, rescuing the gingerbread policeman from her and handing her one of the tasting cookies instead.

“Oops,” she grinned, taking a bite. “Christmas crackers, Arthur, you made this?”

“You’re getting crumbs on the blueprints,” Eames told her primly, moving the papers.

“This is the best cookie I’ve ever tasted. Like, seriously. Candy is going to suck an elf when you win this thing,” Paloma told them, her giddiness clear.

Arthur flushed with pride but waved off her praise. “Yeah well, we still have to get it assembled in time and that will take luck and about a ton of royal icing. Which I still have to make.”

“Then you’re probably not going to love why I’m here,” she said, grabbing three more cookies.

“God, what now?”

“While I understand why you lost track of time,” she said, looking at Eames, who waggled his eyebrows with pride. “It’s getting late and I’m going on a dinner run. We’ll lose the light in another hour, but your Mom wanted you two to run up some hot chocolate and cider. Forest had to hit three different counties to find enough space heaters, and he’s not back yet so everyone is freezing.” 

“I’ll do it,” Eames offered. “No need for you to stop working. I’m nearly done my very small task.”

“You came up with the entire concept, that’s hardly small,” Arthur countered.

“Did you hear that?” Eames asked Paloma, preening. “Arthur says I’m ‘hardly small’.”

Paloma rolled her eyes and gagged. “Oh my god, I’m leaving. Text me what you want to eat from Dino’s and get your asses to the barn.”

“She likes me,” Eames said confidently once Paloma left.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re everyone’s favourite,” Arthur told him, taking off his apron. “Come on, it’ll be nice to get out of the kitchen for a bit. I’m sure I’ve sweated off ten pounds standing in front of the oven.”

“But you look delicious there, all sweet and spicy,” Eames flirted, holding Arthur’s jacket out to him. They double checked the oven was off and covered the cookie dough before making their way to the car. Klaus had cleared the road, and it was the fastest way back to the house to pick up drinks. At the house, Arthur sent Eames in search of the hand warmer packs he knew his mother kept in the front hall. Long days at the tree lot took their toll, and he remembers the story of his Grandfather nearly losing a pinkie to frostbite in the early years of the farm.

Once the cider was warm and the hot chocolate made, they filled large coffee urns and carried them carefully to the car. Arthur grabbed cups and lids from the lot supply room and they drove to the barn. It wasn’t a long ride, but it was bumpy, and Eames kept hissing from the backseat where he was trying to keep the urns from tipping over and spilling.

“Still think you could have done this on your own?” Arthur asked, grinning at Eames in the rearview mirror.

Eames muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘go elf yourself’, but then they hit a bump and he went back to yelping in pain. When they arrived there were at least a dozen vehicles parked around the barn, and Arthur froze in shock as he climbed out of the car.

“What the Blitzen am I looking at?” he asked, frowning tightly at the activity going on in the barn. The doors were wide open, lanterns and strings of bare bulbs highlighting what could only be described as individual scenes of teamwork in which nothing was actually getting done.

Noah and Ginger were conferring over a table laid with mismatched plate settings while Jasper held a ladder for Tree as she inexplicably hammered a row of nails into a random board. The hammer made no noise; all Arthur could hear was that same terrible song as though it was playing on a loudspeaker. The twins were running between and around people, including the ladder holding their mother, but no one stopped them, instead laughing and smiling as they came dangerously close to taking out the cedar archway set up for the ceremony.

“Jasper did say it would take a Christmas miracle,” Eames said, sounding oddly reasonable for someone who was looking at the same scene Arthur was. “They’ve gotten a lot done today.”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Arthur hissed. “None of them are doing anything, and yet…”

“Well, I’m sure they’re slowing down as the day winds down. Paloma said they were all getting cold.”

Arthur threw his gloved hands toward the barn. “Do they look cold? Half of them aren’t even wearing coats! And that guy is wearing an undershirt for glitter’s sake!”

“You’re not the only one who’s noticed,” Eames told him cheekily, pointing out where Forest was sneaking pink-cheeked looks at the man.

“I thought Forest was hunting space heaters.”

Eames shrugged. “You think too much, darling. Just enjoy the warmth and camaraderie of a community coming together!”

“Maybe it’s really a stroke this time,” Arthur muttered to himself. “Maybe I died at the wedding and this is hell.”

Eames smacked his arm lightly. “Stop being a Scrooge and help me with the drinks.”

“But I am a Scrooge,” he complained, following Eames. “Everyone says so.”

Eames sighed loudly and held Arthur by the shoulders. “Darling, listen to me. Stop questioning everything and just let good things happen.”

“None of that makes any sense,” Arthur insisted, flailing at the barn.

“Arthur,” Eames said sharply. “Let. Good. Things. Happen.”

“Fine,” he said with a huff. “Would be nice if they happened to me every once in a while, though.”

Eames tsked and kissed him soundly. “I’m good and I’m happening to you right now.”


	19. Yippee-Ki-Yay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gingerbread, Ohio's 35th Anniversary Gingerbread Baking Competition!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter feels like it took forever to write, and I'm sorry it's so late, but it's longer than the others! It seemed silly to break it up when it's mostly one big scene. If you haven't yet guessed what Arthur and Eames are building for their entry, you should be able to figure it out before they actually present it.

_“I’m good and I’m happening to you right now.”_

Eames’ words echoed in Arthur’s head as he dressed. Eames had seemed so earnest and fond when he’d said it, looking at Arthur like he was just waiting for him to catch up. Wanting him to figure it out. And he was trying. Crinkle, was he trying. But his own feelings were knotted and tangled with Jack, and the wedding, and his family, and Arthur didn’t know how to separate them all yet. 

Right then, all he could focus on was the gingerbread competition because today was the day. The pieces had been delivered to the rec centre; they had a clear plan for construction, and all they needed to do was finish on time and kick a little gingerbread ass. They could do this. They would do this.

Arthur nodded to himself and straightened his sweater so the words were clear. ‘Dreaming of a White Christmas’ aligned perfectly around the knit face of Betty White. Most people thought he was a Bea Arthur man, and he was, really, but in the spirit of competition and slaughtering the opposition, Betty was his lady. A whistle came from the stairs where Eames had appeared in sequined Christmas, faux tuxedo hoodie. It was festive, garish, and perfectly Eames. Arthur grinned.

“This feels dangerously like fate,” he admitted.

Eames held up a finger, his other hand sliding into the pocket of the hoodie. The printed string of lights draped across the torso of the hoodie came to life, blinking brightly in red, green, and yellow.

“Where on earth did you find that?”

“I made it,” Eames said, subdued in a way that told Arthur he was telling the truth.

“It’s amazing. I want one. Next year we could match,” he said, breath hitching on the last word. 

Eames’ eyes widened, ducking his head, but not before Arthur caught sight of his reddening cheeks.

“We should get going,” Arthur blurted to get them back on track. “I want to get there before the others so I can recount the pieces.”

“We’re going to win this thing,” Eames said with conviction.

Arthur nodded. “We are.”

“And if we don’t?” Eames asked, raising his eyebrows.

Arthur grinned and offered Eames his hand. “Then we blow it up.”

********

“These are the best cookies I’ve ever tasted,” the Mayor said again, through a mouthful of said cookies.

Arthur didn’t look at Candy, but he heard her disgruntled mutterings and silently patted himself on the back. Eames was at the judging table, selling them on Arthur’s tasting element, while Arthur glued together a police cruiser. They were an hour into the competition and had to let the lower layers of royal icing harden before continuing. If they added too many stories of the building at once the whole thing would collapse under the weight.of so much cookie. Slow and steady, he reminded himself when he glanced around at the other entrants, all of whom seemed further along than he and Eames. Slow and steady with a heavy icing hand. Because if the structure didn’t make the trip to the judging table, it was all for nothing.

“Got that one in the bag,” Eames told him quietly, putting his apron back on. “They each had at least three cookies.”

Arthur nodded, keeping his eyes on the task in front of him.

“Table one’s are burnt,” Eames continued. “I saw them scraping the bottoms before presenting. And table five are no longer speaking to each other because he mentioned the icing was looking a little thin and she threw a spatula at his head.”

“Are you always a gossip?” Arthur asked, chuckling.

“Just being observant,” Eames hummed. “Your mom and Candy seem fine. A well oiled machine.”

“They’ve had years to perfect their rhythm,” Arthur told him, starting on gingerbread Sergeant Powell. “I think we’re doing pretty good for only knowing each other four days.”

Eames smiled. “Has it only been four days? Feels like forever.”

***********

“Gentlefolk, can I have your attention?” The Mayor called once the second hour chime finished it’s song. “I have the winner of the tasting component!”

Arthur paused from his task of carefully placing blown sugar bubbles filled with crystallized red and orange sugar on the sub-roof of their structure. If everything worked to plan, the pyrotechnics would heat the sugar when the roof blew, making it look like flames were emanating from the explosion. Turned out Eames really knew his way around this stuff. Huh.

“Two of our competitors really impressed us with their recipes! Table five with their lemon drop ginger cookie, and table two with ginger spice!”

Arthur blew out the breath he’d been holding and nodded at Eames.

“Can I get a drum roll, please?” The Mayor asked, prompting a rumbling that made all the gingerbread structures sway dangerously. After some shouting and a few creative swear words, the rumbling stopped. “Sorry about that, everyone! Wouldn’t want a repeat of The Scrooge Frost Incident of ‘04!”

Arthur grit his teeth as people chuckled and pointed him out, but his chagrin turned to pride when the Mayor named them the winners. Eames crowed and kissed his cheek and his mother clapped in his direction, looking relieved.

“Seriously, Arthur,” the Mayor said, clapping him on the shoulder and nearly sending him forward into their structure. “I’m going to need the rest of those cookies. It’s in the rules.”

“No, it’s not,” Arthur argued, shrugging off his hand. “And I know your daughter runs a bakery in Beavercreek. You’re not getting my recipe.”

The Mayor huffed. “You never were a team player, Scrooge.”

“Bah-humbug,” he said, grinning down at his work.

*********

“He won’t stand up,” Eames said again, fighting with the grey-suited gingerbread man.

Arthur scowled as he glued the police cruiser back together. “Don’t force it or you’ll trigger the switch.” It had grown hot in the room and the icing was taking longer to set.

“One minute!” the voice of doom called.

“No, no, no!” Came a cry from beside them, but Arthur couldn’t spare the time to look because they needed to hang McLean from the roof and Eames still hadn’t finished with Hans. The sound of gingerbread hitting the floor made him wince, but the front of the car was finally cooperating, so he ignored it.

“Arthur,” Eames said, worry in his voice.

“Just use more icing,” Arthur barked, looping a candy sour straw around a banged up gingerbread McLean.

“Arthur, the trees,” Eames hissed. “We forgot the trees!”

“Huh?” Arthur said, head whipping to the side where the line of decorated cookie trees sat. “Sugar bits!”

“Thirty seconds!” 

“If Hans is set, get them on the board, if not, toss them so no one knows,” Arthur told him in a harsh whisper.

Eames chuckled and grabbed the trees, placing them on the markers. Arthur hooked the sour straw around the roof’s ledge and backed away carefully, watching to see if McLean would hang or fall. When he stayed put, he pumped his fist in the air.

“Time’s up! Step away from your creations!” 

“Jesus,” Eames panted, hands resting on his knees to catch his breath. He was sweaty and smeared with icing, but his grin lit up his face. “That was intense!”

Arthur laughed and nodded. “Yeah, cutthroat, too.”

“Table five won’t even look at each other now,” Eames told him, peering down the line of tables.

“Stop gossiping,” Arthur admonished, watching the first group called to present. Their movie inspiration was The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, and Arthur had to admit that gingerbread Whoville was adorable, if a little dark around the edges. The crowning piece was the Grinch himself, perched on tiptoe as he crept across a rooftop. 

Everyone held their breath as the board was moved. They made it all the way to the display table only to have the Grinch break off and fall to the floor into a dozen jagged pieces. A collective groan went around the room and one of the bakers burst into tears. 

Tables were randomly selected for presentation and up next was Candy and Winnie with The Bailey House from It’s a Wonderful Life. The nice one, not the broken-down, alternate George Bailey reality one. The house was a peachy-pink with snow caped roof and leafless trees adorning the yard. George, Mary, and the girls were out front, with a winged Clarence looking down from the spire. The windows were poured sugar and you could see into the decorated living room. It was really quite charming, and Arthur breathed a sigh of relief when it made it to the display table in one piece. 

Next up was The Muppet Christmas Carol, but all the Muppets were just a little too off-brand and instead of Michael Caine, Ebeneezer Scrooge bore a striking resemblance to Arthur. He hadn’t even felt bad when half of it caved in near the end of its judging.

He and Eames had hoped to draw last for presenting because of the ending they had planned, and when the judges called table five next, Eames jumped in place. Table five had tackled A Christmas Story, highlighting all the best parts of the movie, including the leg lamp, Flick with his tongue stuck to the lamppost, Randy in his snowsuit, and of course, Ralphie with his Red Ryder Carbine Action 200-shot Range Model air rifle. It was good, and Arthur worried about their chances until Eames leaned into his space and whispered, “Ka-boom,” in his ear.

Moving their structure to the display table was the most nerve-wracking event of Arthur’s life. Worse than his first solo presentation at work, worse than proposing to Jack. Even worse than standing there while Jack and Holly declared their love for each other in front of everyone Arthur knew. 

But their hands were steady, and Nakatomi Plaza was still standing strong when they stepped away. Al was leaning against his car, radio in hand, and John was still swinging precariously, halfway down the building, a smirk on his little gingerbread face. Hans, with his perfectly quaffed hair and trimmed beard, glared down on everything from the roof, and Eames was vibrating with excitement beside Arthur as he explained what was about to happen.

“You’re going to what?” One of the judges asked, frowning.

“We’re going to blow it up,” Arthur repeated. “That’s what happens at the end of the movie; McLean blows up Gruber to save the hostages.”

“Young man,” the woman scolded. “You do know the winning piece is meant to be displayed on your cousin’s table _at her wedding_?”

“I do,” Arthur told her with a smile. “Trust me, it’ll be fine.”

And it was. More than fine, actually. The roof exploded perfectly when Eames triggered it, showering them with chunks of gingerbread and icing while puffs of powdered sugar billowed from the cracks like smoke. The sugar bubbles had broken, the crystals melting and leaping so it looked like flames erupting from the building. They cooled quickly, leaving hard, shiny licks of fire surrounding what was left of poor Hans.

The applause was thunderous, the Mayor on his feet when the ‘smoke’ cleared. Even Candy looked impressed. Horrified, but impressed all the same. Eames hugged him tight when they won and Arthur laughed into the spicy warmth of his neck. It was a moment of pure delight, the likes of which Arthur had known too few of. 

“I don’t know what the bride is going to say about this on her head table,” the judge from before told him, shaking her head. “But it is a show-stopper.”

Arthur laughed, holding Eames close. “Don’t worry, Die Hard is Holly’s favourite movie.”


	20. Christmas In Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Merry whatever you celebrate! Or don't! I hope you all have a wonderful day and I will get the next chapter (Arthur seeking out his Mama for advice) as soon as I can!

Arthur was sitting at a table in the back of the restaurant, humming to himself while he watched Eames make his way around the room. The rehearsal dinner was in full swing, toasts and announcements done, dinner eaten, and now several couples were dancing on the makeshift stage as Frank Sinatra crooned softly.

Jack’s family had arrived and kept eyeing him like he was going to cause a scene, but they should know by now that Jack was the dramatic once, not him. Eames had plied him with liquor throughout dinner to ease his nerves, and Arthur was pleasantly buzzed on whatever fruity cocktail Eames talked the bartender into making for him. He can’t remember the name, but there’s a chunk of pineapple and a slice of blood orange soaking up the sweetness and Arthur intends to feed them to Eames when he comes back to him.

But right then Eames was chatting with Jack’s parents and Jack’s father was actually smiling, and Arthur had had no idea the man’s face could look like that. Not that Jack’s parents had been unfriendly toward him while they were dating, but the man had never clapped Arthur on the back like he’d done to Eames, nor had he shaken his hand quite so enthusiastically. It didn’t bother him, not really. He just wondered if Eames would teach him to be that gregarious and charming. Arthur would probably need a personality transplant for it to work for him.

“Are you blocking Jack and Holly’s table with your trophy?” Tree asked in his ear, startling him.

“No,” he lied badly. “It just looks best in the light right there.”

“Sure it does,” she laughed.

“I won it,” Arthur tells her primly.

Tree petted his hair. “I know, I was there. It was epic.”

“Do you think they’ll stop talking about the time I ruined everything? Now that I’ve won?” he asked, tilting his head back to look at her and making the room spin.

“Oh, Arthur,” Tree sighed, kissing the top of his head. “Dance with me.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” he pouted, but let her pull him to his feet and toward the dance floor.

“It’s a small town, Arthur,” she shrugged and put her hand on his shoulder. ”You’re always going to be known as the kid who ruined Christmas, just like I’m always going to be known as the girl who got pregnant at seventeen.” 

“I think it was more the mystery of their father that made you a legend,” he giggles, sliding an arm around her waist and starting to sway.

“Jasper says they still have the poll going. But Noah threatened them that if my kids ever found out, the old boys wouldn’t live to regret it.”

“This town sucks,” Arthur said, drawing a frown from one of the city councillors who was dancing with her wife beside them. “No offense,” he threw over his shoulder as Tree whirled him away.

“So how long am I supposed to pretend I don’t know Eames is a fraud?” Tree asked a few minutes later. She’d at least waited until they were relatively alone on the dance floor, but the question still caught Arthur off guard.

“Wha— What are you talking about?” Arthur had stopped dancing and Tree had to nudge him along before they drew too much attention.

“Arthur, I’m you sister. Your twin sister. I know you better than you know yourself and you have never looked at anyone the way you look at Eames.”

Arthur thought about it for a minute. “How do I look at him?” he asked, hushed.

Tree smiled at him like he was ridiculous. “Like he’s too good to be true.”

Arthur blushed, but didn’t look away. “And that means he’s not real?”

“It means he’s not real to you,” she said gently. “He seems to be constantly surprising you with how he cares and you keep doing this thing where you bite your lip and gaze at him. Like you want to keep him. You wouldn’t do that if you really had him.”

Arthur let out a shaky breath and his eyes grew moist. “Should’a known I couldn’t keep anything from you.”

“How long have you known him?

“Four days,” Arthur laughed wetly.

“Four days?” Tree repeated in a harsh whisper. “How did you get him to go along with it?”

“It was his idea. We met on the plane and he couldn’t believe I wasn’t bringing a date to the second worst wedding of my life.”

“Wow,” Tree said, spinning them into a darker corner of the room. “What is you life? I mean seriously, Arthur. How do you get into these situations?”

“I have no idea,” Arthur swore. “Before I knew what was happening, we were here and I was halfway to being in lo—”

He stood, shocked into silence while Tree gave him a sad smile.

“Santa’s beard, I’m in love with him.”

“About time you noticed,” Tree said, punching him lightly in the arm. “Have you heard the way he talks about you?”

“What? No. What did he say?” Arthur asked, suddenly desperate to know.

Tree grinned. “Like you’ll be together after this. Like maybe forever. It’s all, ‘When Arthur and I get home’, and ‘Next year Arthur and I can join you’.”

Arthur took a calming breath and dropped his head. “That’s just him playing the game, Tree.”

“I don’t think—”

“Believe me, he’s just really good at it,” Arthur sighed, searching Eames out across the room. “Criminally good. Has me fooled half the time.”

“Oh, Arthur,” Tree said and the sadness in her voice cut him like a knife.

“I’m fine,” he told her brusquely. “It’s fine. Two more days and then we go our separate ways. I’ll probably never even see him again and my infatuation will fade.”

“But you love him,” Tree reminded him.

“I’m fine,” he repeated, jumping when Eames’ voice spoke in his ear.

“You certainly are, darling.”

Arthur laughed nervously, letting go of Tree. His hands were sweaty and he was starting to regret all those sugary drinks.

“Mind if I steal my man for a tour around the dance floor?” Eames asked Tree, his hand resting on the small of Arthur’s back like it was made to fit there.

Tree gave him a wide smile, but here eyes were pinched, checking in with Arthur. He nodded slightly and she stepped away, letting Eames pull Arthur into his arms with a lazy swirl.

“This is nice,” Eames commented, holding Arthur close. 

“Yeah, a friend of my Mom’s owns the restaurant; we’ve been coming here forever.”

Eames gave him a funny look, but didn’t comment, pulling Arthur to him until they were cheek to cheek, Eames’ hand sliding up his back to settle between Arthur’s shoulder blades. Arthur clung to him, wishing for all he was worth that it was real. He wanted it to be real, he knew that now. It hurt that it wasn’t. That it couldn’t be.

“Still no desire to upset the nuptials?” Eames asked in a low hum, his lips against Arthur’s temple. “Because I could propose right before the vows. Really throw them off course.”

Arthur choked out a laugh, his heart aching, knowing that the only reason Eames would ever propose would be to ruin the wedding.

“No,” he croaked, his throat thick with all the words he couldn’t say. 

“Just as well,” Eames continued softly, his body warm and solid in Arthur’s arms. “You deserve so much more.”


	21. Mending Fences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight angst with this chapter, sorry!

Later that night, once Eames was in the shower and Arthur had exchanged his trophy for a Hot Toddy, he went in search of his mother. It was time, he decided, to mend some fences.

He found Winnie in her office, off the kitchen. It was a small sunroom, really, windows sealed with plastic for the winter and a space heater in the corner to keep her arthritis from flaring up. It was cramped, but organized, and smelled much better than when it had been used by his grandfather.

“How did you get the pipe smell out?” he asked, setting a second mug in front of her. His mother smiled and took a sip, shivering slightly as the warm liquid went down.

“It’s still there,” she said, looking around fondly. “The cold keeps it at bay, but I still catch a whiff now and then. When I need it.”

Arthur smiled into his cup. He knew where he got his romantic streak from.

“Is Eames all right? He was swaying when I left.” Winnie was sitting back in her chair, eyes sharp on Arthur like she was trying to see through him. It was another new look, and he wasn’t sure how to interpret it.

“He’s fine, it was mostly for show.”

Winnie hummed. “He likes to put people at ease.”

“Something like that,” Arthur said tightly, not knowing if he wanted his mother dissecting his ‘relationship’ with Eames.

“He likes to put you at ease,” she said delicately. “It’s nice to see you so relaxed.”

Arthur chuckled darkly. “You know, sometimes I wonder how you all see me.”

“What do you mean?” Winnie asked, sitting forward with a frown.

“It’s like you think I go through life under a rain cloud. Like I’m this fragile ball of stress that doesn’t know how to cope. How to be happy. I’m happy, Mom. I  _ was _ happy. With Jack.”

Winnie looked away, her eyes shuttering. Arthur hadn’t meant to spit it all out like that, but the programs for the wedding were on her desk, and it enrages him all over again that she’s so involved with it.  _ It hurts _ .

“I know I didn’t do what you all wanted me to do, okay? I know that. And I know I ran away and ruined everything, but I didn’t deserve—”

“What did you ruin?” she interrupted, puzzled. 

“Everything!” he nearly shouted, his drink slopping over the edge of his mug and onto the floor. “As soon as Grandpa died, all anyone could talk about was how I would fill his shoes, and how everything was on my shoulders, and I couldn’t take it. I didn’t want to run the farm, and he never expected that of me. It wasn’t fair for you to just decide for me what my future would be!”

Winnie took a deep breath, hands pressed to the top of the desk. “Arthur, it never upset me that you didn’t want to run the farm. You were a child.”

“Then why have you been mad at me for the past ten years?” he demanded.

“Because you left!” Winnie snapped, her anger burning away as soon as the words were out. “I  _ missed _ you, Arthur. You left without saying goodbye or explaining yourself and I thought,” her breath hitched and tears shone in her eyes. “I thought I must have been a terrible mother if you didn’t feel you could even say goodbye.”

Arthur’s chest felt tight as a tear spilled over his mother’s cheek and he reached across the desk for her hand.

“You were the best mother,” he said vehemently. “You were amazing.”

“But not anymore?” she asked, sniffling.

Arthur squeezed her hand, but he knew he couldn’t lie. “You looked so happy when Jack left me standing there,” he choked out, unable to meet her gaze. “You planned their wedding.”

He barely got the words out before his mother was rounding the desk and pulling him into an embrace. Arthur clung to her, still seated as she held him and kissed his head.

“I was happy,” she admitted. “I was so relieved that you weren’t making the biggest mistake of your life.”

“What?” he croaked, pulling back to stare up at her.

“Oh, Arthur,” she smiled, tear-stained cheeks ruddy, but smiling. “Jack didn’t make you happy. Not at all. But it was like you couldn’t see it. He dulled you and I was so grateful to Holly for putting herself between you.”

“I was heartbroken, and you barely said two words to me,” he accused, shrugging off her embrace.

“I didn’t know how to tell you. I’m sorry, Arthur; I should have done better, I know that now. But I could see that losing Jack then was so much better than losing him later. Because you would have,” she told him gently. “He wouldn’t have stayed.”

Arthur sniffs angrily. “I know that now. He told me as much.”

“He and Holly are meant to be together and as much as it pains me they broke your heart, I’m glad for how it’s turned out.”

Arthur stared at her, tired and angry, but mostly missing her even more now that she was right in front of him. “Did you have to plan the wedding?” he asked, slumping.

“It probably won’t make sense to you, not unless you’re a parent one day, but when you know your child is hurting, you want it over and done with as quickly as possible so the healing can start. Holly and Jack were getting married no matter what, but they were talking two, three years from now. I knew you wouldn’t come home in the meantime, and dammit, Arthur, I wanted you home.”

Arthur stared at her disbelieving. “You did this  _ for _ me?”

Winnie nodded. “It was all I could do to speed things along.”

“And now that it’s almost over?”

His mother took his hands in hers. “Then you’ll know it’s really done with Jack and you can move on.”

Arthur huffed out a strangled laugh. “Mom, I already have. I think I was pretty much over Jack by the time the church doors closed. I just didn’t know it then.”

“But now, with Eames?” she asked with a hopeful smile. “You see it?”

“God, Eames is a whole different issue,” he admitted. “So is this why you told me not to interfere with the wedding? You thought I was still in love with Jack?”

“Even if you weren’t I had to be sure you didn’t have a revenge plan up your sleeve,” she told him shrewdly.

Arthur stared back and pursed his lips. “I might see how you’d be worried about that.”

Winnie smiled. “You are your mother’s son.”

“Is that why we’re both so bad a communicating?” he asked, wryly.

“God, probably,” she huffed. 

Arthur smiled at her, studying the difference ten years had made. “I missed you, Mom.”

“I missed you, too,” she said, eyes wet once again. “Now, tell me more about Eames. Him, I actually like.”

Arthur laughed, hating that he was about to destroy what little peace they’d finally achieved. “Of course you do.”

“You seem to have found your place with him. A good place. A happy place.”

“Eames isn’t real, Mom,” he blurted before she could go on. 

Winnie’s eyes narrowed. “Arthur, what did you do?”

He was suddenly nine years old again, standing next to the house with a scrape on his knee and dirt on his nose, swearing he didn’t throw the baseball that had his name scrawled across it where it sat amidst the broken window glass.

“I don’t know him,” he started, unable to look at her. “Not really. I met him on the plane here and he suggested that he accompany me to the wedding. To make things easier on me.”

His mother sighed. “Let’s set aside for a minute you brought a total stranger into this house and focus on why.”

“I was anxious, and a little drunk, and he was very convincing!” Arthur shrugged, wincing at the weak argument. “I just, I just needed a buffer.”

“Between you and your family,” Winnie stated, looking hurt.

“Between me and the two people who hurt me, Mom. And between me and you, and the truth that I ran away. And honestly, between me and Nick and Candy!” 

Winnie snorts. “Okay, I can see your point. But honestly, Arthur, there’s nothing between you and Eames?”

“Well,” Arthur said, ducking his head to hide his blush. “I mean, there’s something physical, sure, but it’s nothing  _ real _ .” His voice cracked on the last word, making him groan.

“Are you sure about that?” she asked gently.

Arthur shook his head. “Not for him. I’m just a good story. A good time, maybe.”

“But you feel more?”

Arthur groaned and grabbed at his hair. “I don’t know, Mom, I mean, when I’m with him, he’s amazing, and kind, and he makes me laugh so damn much, and sometimes I think I can see more than him playing a part, like he sees me for who I am and he  _ wants _ that, but then it’s gone and I’m left gasping at how raw and honest he seemed. And when I’m not with him,” Arthur sighed, deflating. “When I’m not with him all I can think about is finding him.”

“Sounds a bit like love,” she smiled, kicking his calf lightly. “I’m happy to know you recognize it now.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t help me, though, does it?”

Winnie laughed. “Arthur, you’re my child and I love you, but you can be denser than fruitcake.”

“I forgot how mean you are,” he told her, pouting.

“Arthur, if you can work things out with me after ten years and one ruined wedding, you can work things out with Eames.”

“And if he doesn’t feel the same way?” he asked, hands shaking with nerves.

Winnie smiled darkly, reminding him his romantic streak wasn’t all he got from her. “Then we have three-hundred acres, just perfect for hiding his body.”


	22. Sweeter than Sugar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't let the angst of this chapter fool you, it ends very dorkish and sweet! 
> 
> Take note of the final chapter count! This is an approximation as I haven't actually sat down to see what it will amount to. That number usually goes up as I write anyway, but I'm aiming for 30. We'll see. Thank you all for hanging in there and all your amazing kudos and comments! Mwah!

Arthur was pumped up. As pumped up as he got, anyway. More like cautiously optimistic with a side of giddy. He would march upstairs, kiss Eames, and confess his feelings. Or something. He didn’t have an exact plan, but he was confident he’d know what to do once he got there. Having sex with Eames one more time before pulling the proverbial trigger wasn’t out of the question, either, and he refused to feel ashamed.

Eames’ deep chuckle pulled him off course halfway up the main staircase, only the sound didn’t come from the attic where Arthur had left him. He crept back down the stairs toward the living room, and there, in front of the tree, back-lit by the soft fairy lights, picturesque and intimate, was Eames. And Jack.

Jack’s square hands gripped Eames’ shoulders, digging into his thin sleep shirt, while Eames’ arms circled Jack’s waist. They were smiling at each other, bright and conspiratory, like they shared some reckless secret. Like ten feet away, the sight of them wasn’t ripping Arthur’s heart out of his chest all over again.

He stumbled back to the stairs, panicked and lightheaded, wheezing as his breath punched in and out of his lungs. Eames and Jack. Jack and Eames. It wasn’t possible. Only it was, because he’d just seen it. Hadn’t he? He squeezed his eyes closed, the tableau of the two of them jumping into his mind, clear as though they were still in front of him. Arthur slumped into the wall, hands gripping the banister hard enough it creaked. How long, he wondered. How long had they been sneaking around behind his back? Behind Holly’s?

Arthur went cold. Holly. Did she know? Arthur scoffed. No, she couldn’t. That wasn’t Jack’s style. He was suddenly furious. Livid. On fire with rage at Jack doing this again. Holly may not be innocent in the breaking of Arthur’s heart, but he was damned if he’d let Jack make Holly feel the way he’d made Arthur feel. Holly had done what she did because she’d fallen in love. For Jack it was apparently compulsive. 

They were still in front of the tree but no longer embracing when Arthur stepped into the living room. Eames caught the movement and when he spotted Arthur, his face lit up like Arthur was the best thing he’d seen all day. It stung, how easily Eames could make him feel special. Wanted.

Arthur blocked their escape and fisted his hands. “What, in Santa’s saggy Y-fronts, is going on here?”

At his harsh tone, Eames’ easy smile slipped into worry. “Darling?”

“Ah, maybe I should—” Jack started, trying to hedge around Arthur.

“You’re not going anywhere until you tell me how long this has been going on,” Arthur spit, pushing him back. “How long the two of you have been planning on ruining another wedding.”

Eames had the nerve to laugh in surprise.

“Are, are you serious?” Jack asked, gaping at Arthur like the accusation hurt.

“Yes, I’m serious,” he hissed, poking Jack in the chest with his finger. “Do you get off on this? Seducing people and then leaving them at the altar? Is it some kind of sick fetish or something?” He glared at Eames next. “And how long have you been in on it?”

“Arthur, you need to take a breath,” Eames said, hands up in supplication.

“How long, Eames? Since we screwed in the shower, or before? Is this where you were really going on that plane?”

“Just what are you accusing me of?” Eames asked, his face thunderous.

“It was your idea for me to bring you here,” Arthur realized, voice shaking. “Did you plan this? This hornswoggle!”

“Hornswoggle?” Eames repeated to himself.

“Arthur, stop it!” Jack commanded, shaking him by the shoulders. “You’re talking crazy.”

“Crazy?” Arthur laughed, sounding as unhinged as Jack clearly thought he was. “Is it crazy to find my ex and my, my—I saw you two holding each other!”

“Christ on a cracker, you complete arse,” Eames growled, pushing Jack aside to grip Arthur’s face in his hands.

“We hugged. That’s all. And we did it because Jack sought me out to thank me for making you happy after he hurt you,” Eames’ eyes searched his face, wounded. “For helping you to feel love again. Guess we were both wrong about that.”

“I—Wha?” Arthur breathed, confused and quickly losing his ire.

“Arthur, there’s nothing nefarious going on,” Jack told him gently. “I’m in love with Holly. I’m going to marry Holly. I just wanted to try and make amends before that, like I tried to do with you. I hoped it would make tomorrow easier on you, maybe.”

“You didn’t hug me,” Arthur accused, voice thin.

Jack laughed softly. “Because you probably would have punched me.”

Arthur’s eyes slid back to Eames, who was still holding his face, looking at Arthur like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to kiss or kill him.

“I’m an idiot?” Arthur tried.

Eames’ face relaxed a fraction and his fingers pressed more firmly into Arthur’s skin. “You’re a massive idiot.”

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, hands coming up to grip Eames’ wrists. “I was so scared.”

“Of what?” Eames asked, voice barely more than a whisper. They were so close to each other Arthur could feel Eames’ breath on his lips.

Arthur braced himself, praying he was strong enough to lay himself bare and face the consequences with grace. He nearly snorted at the thought because he’d taken nothing with grace in his life and he probably would not start now.

“Scared to lose you. Terrified, actually.”

The corner of Eames’ mouth ticked up. “Why?”

Arthur glared. “You know why.”

Eames hummed. “Gonna need you to say it, pet. After accusing me of being a slubberdegullion, I think I’m owed it.”

“Slubberde-what?” Arthur smiled, hands moving to grip Eames’ shirt. “That’s not a word.”

“It’s as much of a word as ‘Hogswoggle’,” Eames assured him.

“Hornswoggle,” Arthur corrected. “It means to deceive.”

“I know what it means,” Eames lied, fingers threading through the hair at the back of Arthur’s head and tugging playfully. “Now say it.”

Arthur swallowed, looking up at Eames from under his eyelashes. His tongue slipped out, so close to Eames he brushed against the plush curve of Eames’ bottom lip as he wet his own. Eames’ chest rumbled against him, setting Arthur’s heart into a gallop. He sucked in a quick breath, all the words he wanted to say, heavy on his tongue. When he spoke it was straight into Eames’ mouth. “Hornswoggle.”

Eames’ smile was bright enough to light up Arthur’s entire life, and his laugh was sweet in Arthur’s lungs. “I love you, too, you utter twiddle.”


	23. Le Tits Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: graphic sex in this chapter! A bit tamer than my usual graphic sex, but it's not terribly lyrical.
> 
> I only had a few minutes to edit and post this, so I apologize if there are more than the usual amount of mistakes.

“Maybe we should talk about this,” Eames said between kisses while he tried to wrestle Arthur’s sweater off without sending them both tumbling to the ground.

“What’s there to talk about?” Arthur responded, his laugh muffled in the fabric Eames had somehow wrapped around his face. “I thought we were on the same page.”

Eames pulled the sweater off with a grunt, catching the tip of Arthur’s nose a little, but then his mouth was on Arthur’s neck, so he wasn’t about to complain.

“Love, right? That’s what we said, so this is fine. This is good. Nng,  _ that _ is amazing,” he breathed as Eames added teeth to his marking of Arthur.

“Glad you agree,” Eames said, giving him a darkly amused look before shaking his lust off. “But what about after this?”

“The wedding is tomorrow,” Arthur evaded, taking advantage of Eames’ distraction to divest the man of his t-shirt.

“And then?”

“Christmas,” Arthur told Eames’ nipple before swirling his tongue around it. Eames made a delightful noise at that so Arthur did it again before switching to the other side. Eames’ nipples were a little puffy, pink and lightly creased around the areola, jutting up into small peaks as thought they were calling for Arthur’s attention.

“You’re being purposely obtuse,” Eames accused, gripping Arthur’s jaw and pulling him away. Arthur whined in displeasure, but didn’t fight it. “I love you. I need to know if that’s enough.”

Arthur frowned. “Enough for what?”

Eames’ eye skirted to the side, making him look vulnerable in a way Arthur had never seen.

“Hey, hey,” he said, straightening up and prying Eames’ hands away so he could hold them. “I said I love you and I meant it. I’m not going to take that back.”

“But what do we really know about each other?” Eames blurted, nostrils flaring. “Outside this microcosm of Christmas insanity, we’re still strangers. What happens when we leave here?”

Arthur smiled because he could answer this. He didn’t know much, but  _ this _ , he knew with certainty. “I was thinking a quiet New Year, just the two of us. Then we decide what makes more sense, going back to Seattle together, or moving on to wherever you’re headed.”

Eames’ eyebrows rose. “Just like that?”

“Just like that,” Arthur assured him with a smile. “Eames, I need you to understand what it means when I say I’m in love with you. I’ve  _ never _ felt this way about anyone before. Ever.”

“And what way is that?” Eames asked, fingers sliding over the back of Arthur’s hands.

“In you, I’ve found my place,” Arthur told him, grinning at how unafraid he was to admit it. He didn’t feel like he needed to hold anything back from Eames. Didn’t want to, and that was new and exciting. “For the first time in my life I feel like I don’t have to try being something I’m not. All those ornaments on the tree, running away from home, that was all me trying to fit into a container I didn’t know the shape of. Turns out I didn’t need any of that. I just needed you. I trust you to love me for everything I am and I hope you feel the same way.”

“No pressure,” Eames teased, pulling him closer.

Arthur groped Eames lightly through his thin sleep pants. “Well, maybe a little pressure.”

Eames kiss him, strong and sure. “Me too. All of that. You’re it for me, Arthur.”

Arthur’s face hurt from smiling, but he couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to. 

“I want to know everything about you,” Eames continued, once again kissing down Arthur’s neck. “Your hopes, your dreams.”

Arthur gasped as Eames bit down on the mark he’d been working on earlier. “You, it’s all you.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Eames demanded, opening Arthur’s pants. “Just one thing. We have the rest of our lives to uncover the rest.”

“I have a black thumb,” he confessed, whining when Eames’ hand stopped its journey to the inside of his pants.

“Heh?”

“Plants, Eames. I kill plants. Can’t even keep weeds alive,” he explained, frowning when Eames started laughing.

“You can’t—” he wheezed, hanging off Arthur. “And they wanted you to run a Christmas tree farm!”

Arthur tried to fight it, but his smile broke through. He pushed Eames onto the bed in retaliation. “Shut up.”

“Make me,” Eames challenged, waggling his eyebrows.

Arthur surged forward, straddling Eames and pinning his wrists to the bed. “After you tell me something.”

Eames thought for a moment. “I’m adopted.”

“Really?” Arthur was surprised and Eames used it to his advantage, rolling until his body was pressing Arthur into the mattress with delicious intent.

“My brother and I both. But I don’t want to think about him right now,” Eames said, grinding down.

“Yeah, no, that’s fine, god, don’t stop,” Arthur panted, trying to shimmy out of his pants while Eames rolled against him.

Eames laughed against Arthur’s shoulder, ignoring him completely and moving away to tug Arthur’s pants and underwear off. His own soon followed and then he stood beside the bed, eyes raking over Arthur’s naked body.

“You gonna do something about that look in your eyes?” Arthur teased, sliding a hand down to give himself a lazy stroke.

“I want to ride you like a toboggan,” Eames told him, voice rough.

Arthur chuckled, how cock throbbing at the idea. “There're condoms and lube in my bag.”

“There’s also a giant dildo in your bag,” Eames reminded him, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s pretty adventurous for the first time, but whatever you’re up for, big guy.”

Eames flushed and tickled Arthur’s foot, catching it when Arthur kicked out in response. He dropped a light kiss on Arthur’s ankle before lowering it back to the bed and somehow that felt more intimate than anything else they’d done so far.

“Lay down,” Arthur mumbled, reaching out for Eames.

Eames held up a finger before rummaging through Arthur’s bag. He left the supplies on the nightstand and spread out next to Arthur, turning his face up for a kiss. Arthur met him halfway, climbing over Eames and nudging him this way and that until Arthur had him exactly where he wanted him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, trailing his fingers through the hair on Eames’ chest. His hand followed the curve of Eames’ muscled torso, over his touch-soft stomach and the sharpness of his hipbone. His thighs were well defined and nearly smooth, the top of his knee sensitive enough to make him giggle. Arthur smiled into his skin, sliding his fingers behind the knee and hitching Eames’ leg up and open, baring him to Arthur’s explorations. “Gorgeous.”

“Arthur,” Eames gasped, eyes clenched as Arthur’s fingers rubbed gently at the crease of his thigh.

“Hmm?” When he reached the curve of Eames’ ass, Arthur’s touch turned firm, kneading the plump flesh of Eames’ cheek. 

“Please, god, please touch me,” Eames plead, hand gripping the quilt.

“Look at me,” Arthur requested, ghosting the pads of his fingers over Eames hole as soon as their eyes met. Eames groaned, arching into the touch and biting his lip. “I want you so much.”

“You have me,” Eames promised, panting. “But if you’re not in me in the next few minutes, I will come without you.”

“You that close already?” Arthur teased, dragging his teeth over Eames’ right nipple.

Eames made a noise so high-pitched, Arthur was sure any dogs close by were going nuts, and he wasn’t doing much better. He leaned over Eames, licking into his mouth as he grabbed the lube. He didn’t waste any time slicking his fingers and getting them into Eames. Eames clung to him, pressing bruises into Arthur’s skin and rocking into the stretch. It didn’t take as long as Arthur hoped, but Eames’ demands for Arthur to get on with it were charming in their own way, and then he was pushing inside, shuddering at the greedy clasp of Eames’ body.

“Finally,” Eames groaned, pulling Arthur down on top of him and kissing him senseless.

“I’m not complaining, but I thought you wanted to ride me,” Arthur said, rolling his hips. He wasn’t very deep with how they were laying, but Eames didn’t seem to mind, the tight, hot slick of him welcoming Arthur over and over.

“In a minute,” Eames whispered, breath coming out in a huff as Arthur sped up. “Just want to feel you first.”

“Oh, are you not feeling me enough?” Arthur teased, linking their hands and using them as leverage. Eames spread his legs further, thighs hooking just above Arthur’s hips, feet crossing with his heels digging into Arthur’s lower back. Arthur settled into a rhythm, pressing as deep into Eames as he could, slow and sure as Eames’ nails dragged up his back.

“Ffff,” Eames stuttered, arching up to meet Arthur. “I changed my mind, this is good. Let’s keep going.”

“You sure?” Arthur asked, circling his hips until Eames shouted. “Kinda liked the idea of watching you writhe over me.”

“Next time,” Eames promised, patting Arthur’s shoulder. “But don’t stop tha— _ right there _ !” 

Arthur doubled down, watching Eames’ eyes flutter closed as he stroked carefully, not moving from the spot that made Eames’ toes curl against him. His own pleasure was building rapidly, filling him with warmth and sparking his nerves in the best way. A flash of silver caught his eye from beside the bed and he froze.

“Noooo,” Eames whined, kicking at him to get him moving again. “Why’d you stop?”

“I forgot the condom,” Arthur whispered, staring at the packet in horror. 

“It’s fine, I’m fine,” Eames assured him.

“Yeah?” Arthur asked, unsure. “I know we kind of fumbled through the talk before, but swallowing is different than… this.”

Eames groaned and pushed Arthur off him, wincing as he slipped out. He shoved Arthur onto his back and climbed over him, lining up and sliding down with a wet gasp, until he settled into the cradle of Arthur’s hips.

“God, yes,” Eames breathed. “I am more than fine with it.”

“Mistletoe, you feel amazing,” Arthur told him, gripping Eames’ waist as he moved, taking Arthur deeper and deeper until he swore he could feel Eames’ heartbeat pulsing through his cock.

Eames’ hands padded at Arthur's chest and stomach, touching wherever he could reach as he rode him in tight waves. Eames was unbelievable like this. He was a winter storm; dizzying and awesome in his strength and determination. He swirled his hips and ground down, sparking pleasure deep inside himself and bucking again and again until he was crying out Arthur’s name and coming like a flurry over the both of them.

Arthur doubled his efforts as Eames’ body clamped around him. Eames’ hand on him, his heat engulfing him, and Arthur’s name on his lips, was enough to have him coming hard in no time, filling Eames with the proof of his pleasure.

As soon as Arthur finished, Eames collapsed on top of him in a fit of giggles. Arthur ran a hand through his hair, shaking Eames’ head lightly. Eames gazed up at him, eyes bright and cheek pink, a blissed out smile on his face, and Arthur couldn’t help but fall in love all over again. 

“What’s so funny?” Arthur asked.

Eames grinned mischievously. “Darling, you frosted me.”


	24. The Wedding March

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! Going to do my best to finish this beast this week!

Arthur’s good mood lasted through to the next day, propelled by Eames’ firm touch and a truly spectacular second round in the early morning hours. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to the look of pure hunger in Eames’ eyes as he worked Arthur to full thickness and took him into his body. Sex with Eames was transcending, and Arthur more than willing to worship at that altar.

At breakfast, Tree made rude comments under her breath about how loud Arthur still was, much to Eames’ delight and the twin’s confusion.

“What does ‘caterwauling’ mean?” Elden asked through a mouthful of pancakes.

“Are we talking about Arthur?” Klaus asked, coming through the back door with Paloma and Forrest in tow. “I hear you’re the reason we had to send Grandma’s quilt to the cleaners and air out the cottage.”

“Jealousy cheapens you,” Arthur informed them primly as he cut his pancakes. Eames chuckled and pressed a kiss to Arthur’s cheek while stealing a piece of his bacon.

Arthur bore it all with grace; he knew 40% of the ribbing was them being happy for him and 40% was an attempt to keep him distracted from what would probably a very awkward experience for him. It’s not every day you watch your cousin marry your ex-groom, after all. The remaining 20% was his family being the perfect ash-holes they were.

It wasn’t until later, with Eames dressed in a cobalt suit and white shirt, looking effortlessly sexy and masculine with his almost-wild beard and the first two buttons open at his throat, that Arthur had to talk himself into attending the wedding. All he really wanted to do was rub himself all over Eames until they were both a sticky mess on the floor.

Eames hummed approvingly as he helped Arthur with his own jacket, completing the three-piece sharkskin grey wool ensemble. He knew he looked good, but it was always nice to have confirmation and Arthur thanked Eames with a kiss.

“You look exquisite,” Eames told him, straightening Arthur’s tie.

“Felt like I had to, you know?” Arthur said, trying to hide his embarrassment behind humour. “I mean, everyone’s going to be looking at me, may as well give them an eyeful.”

Eames gave him a soft smile and cupped his jaw, pressing their lips together firmly, once, twice, and a third time, his breath warm on Arthur’s chin. “I love you.”

Arthur grinned, not even trying to hide how happy it made him to hear Eames say it. “I love you, too. Now, let’s get over to the barn before we’re accused of making a dramatic entrance.”

“Every entrance I make is dramatic,” Eames told him, pinching his ass as Arthur walked ahead and laughed.

**********

Berry was directing people to their seats as they entered the barn and Arthur gave them an appreciative nod.

“That suit is aces,” he told them honestly, hiding his smile when Berry blushed.

“Thanks. Jack helped me pick it out,” they confessed.

Arthur chuckled. “Well, as the one who taught Jack everything he knows about fashion, I will take all the credit.”

“Deal,” Berry agreed with a smirk. “You two are up near the front with the family.”

“I was rather expecting they’d hide you at the back,” Eames teased.

Berry snorted. “You really think they’d put him where they can’t keep an eye on him?”

“Snard-bunker,” Arthur retorted, mussing Berry’s hair and going to find their seats.

They ended up with the twins corralled between them since Tree and Winnie were both dealing with some bride-related last minute emergency. Eames and the kids entertained themselves guessing what Holly may have spilled on her dress while Arthur perfected the art of people watching without making eye contact. It was difficult with him knowing more than half the wedding guests, but he was pleased with his score so far. 

As he took in the barn, he had to admit it looked amazing. Magical, even, since there was no possible way for them to have got it to this stage of completion in the time they had. And yet.

“Stop glaring at the decorations,” Eames told him.

“You don’t think it’s weird that this looks like a whole different barn? Two days, Eames. That’s all they had,” he insisted. “That section of the roof is at a different angle than it was!”

“Hush up or the Christmas Love Spirit will hear you and take it all back,” Eames admonished, looking far more serious than anyone should after uttering the words ‘Christmas Love Spirit’.

Arthur was about to argue when Aunt Bessie dropped into the chair beside him with Forrest on her other side.

“Where is everyone?” Arthur whispered, gesturing at the empty seats around them.

“There’s been a bit of a hiccup,” Forrest hissed.

“Bride’s got cold feet,” Bessie snapped, making several people look in their direction.

Arthur fought back a hysterical giggle by clearing his throat. Reacting in any way was sure to get him blamed for disrupting the wedding, but he couldn’t help but feel a little gleeful at Holly calling the whole thing off.

“Stop gossiping,” Tree told them, sliding into a chair in front of them and turning around.

“What’s happening?” Eames asked, shuffling the kids down the line so he could sit next to Arthur.

“It’s just nerves, don’t get excited,” she said, looking put out.

Arthur moved closer. “Did you say something?”

Tree’s eyes were sharp, her mouth a tight line. “No.”

“Treakle, tell the truth,” Arthur told her.

Tree rolled her eyes. “She worked herself into a huff, I had nothing to do with that.”

“But?” Bessie prompted.

“But Candy kicked me out when I told them karma was a bitch.”

Eames and Forrest chuckled, but Bessie smacked Tree on the arm with the back of her hand. 

“Treakle Baum, Holly is your kin. No matter how selfish and spoiled she is, you don’t step on family when they’re down.”

“After what she did to Arthur, I’ll step on her all I like,” Tree snapped and turned to face the front. The twins, sensing the tension, climbed over the chairs to sit on either side of their mother and it wasn’t until her hands were holding theirs that Tree sighed and turned back around. “Nothing I say will change how Holly feels. She’s going to marry Jack, she’s just being dramatic.”

“She’s not good at much, but she is good at that,” Bessie agreed. Arthur smiled and took her hand, smoothing his thumb over Bessie’s soft, wrinkled skin.

“I missed you,” he whispered.

Bessie smirked. “Of course you did.”

Ten minutes after the ceremony was to start, the rest of the family hurried to their seats, leaving room for Nick and Candy. The music started, and the guests stood, turning to watch the procession. Arthur glanced at the make-shift altar, an arch of cedar boughs that had Holly’s artistic touch all over it. The officiant met his gaze and winked lasciviously. Arthur’s eyes grew wide as he realized it was drunk Santa from dinner the other night. The man waggled his eyebrows and leered, and Arthur turned back around, fighting laughter as Jack made his way up the aisle. 

Eames’ hand slid into his, squeezing briefly before relaxing, and Arthur leaned into the quiet breadth of him, letting Eames take his weight and slide an arm around his waist. Until this moment, he thought he’d feel anger or hurt by this point. Shame, at the very least. What else could he feel, standing there watching his cousin marry the man he thought was the love of his life? But as Jack settled by the officiant and Holly started her march, Nick and Candy on either side of her, all Arthur felt was... interest. Polite interest at that. He knew in that moment that he was finally and completely over what had happened. 

Despite Tree’s tale of cold feet, there was no doubt on Holly’s face as she approached Jack. She looked calm and sure, a mirror of the happiness on her groom’s face. They belonged together, Arthur saw that now. He still thought they were shitty people for how they handled getting together, but they were meant to be shitty together.

Arthur smiled.


	25. May I Have This Christmas Dance?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize profusely for being all, "I'm going to finish this fic this very soon" and then fucking off for weeks. Real life went to shit and I lost a close friend very suddenly. Emotions and grief have kept me from writing and I'm just now getting back to the things I was working on before. I am absolutely going to finish this fic as quickly as possible, but it may be one chapter a week a this point. But we're so close to the end and you've all been so lovely and patient, and I'm not worthy of your love! Thank you for hanging in here with me and for loving this cheesetastic mess of a fic as much as I do!

“You have to admit, it was poetic,” Eames cajoled, swaying Arthur gently.

“You definitely read bad poetry,” Arthur told him with a scowl, but he couldn’t hold on to it because he was too busy holding onto Eames, pleasantly buzzed on love and champagne, dancing with the man he loved.

“I don’t care what it was, it was my favourite moment ever,” Paloma snickered, dancing next to them with Berry.

“Good old Bessie,” Berry said with a smile, and Arthur’s startled to realize he’d forgotten how amazing Berry’s smile was. It lights up their whole face, eyes sparkling with mischief, and he wishes they’d do it more. But he understood; it was hard to smile when you felt so out of place in your world. He vowed then to make more of an effort to connect with his cousin. Maybe Berry could come visit him for Spring Break. He thinks they’d like Seattle.

“Arthur thinks she did it on purpose,” Eames confided with a giggle.

Paloma gave him a disapproving glare. “She’s a ninety-two-year-old woman, Arthur. I highly doubt she did it on purpose.”

“So she just happened to have cinnamon spice cookies in her purse? At the wedding? And she just happened to shove one under my nose just as the officiant asked it anyone objected to the marriage?” he demanded, turning his head to keep them in view as Eames spun him around.

“AHCHOO!” Berry and Paloma sang out, collapsing against each other. Eames’ laughter was warm and vibrated deep in his chest, reminding Arthur that he had better things to do than entertain his cousins with his misfortune.

“Spin me toward the dessert table,” he demanded primly, nose in the air. Eames grinned and did as he was told, adding a layer to his mystique as he effortlessly manoeuvred Arthur across the dance floor.

“You sure you’re not secretly a Prince?” Arthur asked, squinting at him. “Because movies tell us only spies and royalty can dance this well.”

“And dancers, presumably,” Eames smirked.

“Don’t be a Prince, okay? Tree will force you to marry her.”

“I would renounce my title before it ever came to that,” Eames assured him, kissing Arthur’s cheek.

Arthur’s face warmed at the simple affection. He didn’t think he’d ever tire of all the little ways Eames showed him affection. He hadn’t realized that was something he wanted until Eames gave it to him.

“Tell me something no one else knows,” Arthur asked when a new song started. It was slow and sultry, and Eames was pressed against him deliciously.

“Hmm, not sure there’s anything no one else knows,” Eames told him, growing thoughtful. “But I can tell you something I’ve never told anyone before.”

Arthur nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“I’m adopted.”

“Oh, wow,” Arthur said, startled at how personal Eames went with his request. “That’s, um, that’s a big deal.”

“Never told anyone because it wasn’t a big deal to me,” Eames shrugged, his gaze distant. “I’ve always known, but my parents are secretive about it. Bad for business, you see.”

“What kind of business looks down on adoption?” Arthur asked, dismayed.

“The family tradition kind,” Eames chuckled. “Don’t look so scandalized, darling, it’s not as bad as it sounds.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I think I’ll reserve my opinion for when I meet them.”

“You want to?” Eames asked, eyes wide with surprise.

It was Arthur’s turn to laugh, although his was nervous and quick. “You met my people; I want to meet yours.”

Eames hummed, pulling him closer to bury his nose in Arthur’s hair. “Come home with me for New Year. Meet my people.”

Arthur bit his lip and nodded, giving Eames’ ass a quick squeeze of reassurance. Avery and Elden went giggling past, hands linked and spinning around the dance floor like drunk toddlers. Arthur laughed after them, watching them pull Noel to his feet to join in the fun.

“Tree told me a bit about their father,” Eames confessed, following Arthur’s gaze.

That surprised Arthur. “Do you believe her?”

“Don’t have a reason not to,” Eames said, returning his attention to Arthur. “It seems like the plot of a cheesy Christmas movie, though, doesn’t it?”

Arthur chuckled. “You said it, not me.”

“Did she really hit him with her car?”

“Brushed him with it is more accurate,” Arthur corrected. "The only mark on him was a cut from landing in the brush.”

“Okay, so a handsome stranger appears in the middle of the road, in a snowstorm,” Eames paused, waiting for Arthur to confirm before he continued. “Is miraculously unhurt by the car that hits him, but turns out to have no memory whatsoever of who he is, why he’s there, or where he’s from?”

Arthur nods, “Pretty much.”

“And he and Treakle fall madly in love in the what, week that he’s here?”

“Six days, not even a full week,” Arthur tells him. 

“And then he just, poof, disappears?”

“Yep. A month later, Tree found out she was pregnant with the twins,” Arthur sighed, resting his head against Eames’ shoulder.

“And the bloke has no idea he’s a father?” Eames asked thinking it unfair.

Arthur gave him a weak smile. “He could have come back at any time.”

“He didn’t leave a number? A forwarding address? A twitter account?”

Arthur laughed. “Nope.”

“Tree must have been devastated,” he said with feeling.

“Yeah, it was pretty rough. Plus, she wouldn’t tell anyone who the father was, not even Mom.”

“How did no one else find out about him while he was here?” Eames wondered, spinning Arthur out and back in.

“She hid him in the cottage. The only reason I knew about him was because I tried to sneak a guy in there one night. I was pretty surprised to find there was already one on site,” Arthur told him, grinning.

“Naughty Arthur,” Eames purred against Arthur’s neck, making him squirm and laugh. “What was this guy’s name? Tree didn’t tell me.” 

“I don’t even think Tree knew what his actual name was, since he couldn’t remember it, but she named him ‘Cole’. Said it was because his hair was so black and his hotness was combustible. Get it? Cole, Coal?”

Eames had frozen, staring at Arthur with a troubled look.

“What’s wrong?” Arthur asked, brow crinkling.

Eames shook himself, forcing a smile back on his face. “Nothing, brain shorted out for a moment,” he cleared his throat. “You know, your mom could probably use a vacation. Her, Tree, and the kids should join us to visit my folks.”

Arthur’s eyes widened. “Seriously? That’s a lot of family at once, isn’t it?”

Eames made a show of looking around the room at all the relatives and friends Arthur had subjected him to.

“Okay, you have a point,” Arthur conceded, slipping his arms around Eames’ chest and holding him close. “We’re to lucky to have found each other, you know that?”

“I do,” Eames told him softly. “All I can hope is our luck holds.”


End file.
